FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


5£B 


V  \ 


/// 


^ 


BY   THE    SAME  AUTHOR. 


FOUR    PHASES    OF    MORALS: 
Socrates,    Aristotle,   Christianity,  Utilita- 
rianism. 
I  vol.  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

ON     SELF-CULTURE. 

INTELLECTUAL,     PHYSICAL,     MORAL. 

A  Vade  Mecum  for  Young  Students. 
1  vol.  121110,  cloth,  $1.00. 

Sent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,   by  the  Pub- 
lishers, 

SCRIBNER,    ARMSTRONG   &    CO., 

743  &*  745  Broadway,   New    York. 


SONGS    OF    RELIGION 
AND    LIFE. 


V 


75 


MAR  22  1934 


SONGS 


■\ 


& 


ov 


RELIGION   AND    LIFE 


BY 


' 


JOHN    STUART    BLACKIE 

PROFESSOR   OF  GREEK   IN   THE   UNIVERSITY  OF   EDINBURGH 


NEW    YORK 
SCRIBNER,    ARMSTRONG,    m    CO. 

1 8; 


John  F.  Trow  &  Son, 

Printers  and  Bookbinders, 

205-213  East  12 tk  St., 

new  YORir. 


PRKFAC  F~ 

The  Poems  in  this  volume  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  Second  Edition  of  the  second 
part  of  my  '  Lays  and  Legends  of  Ancient 
Greece,'  which  has  long  been  out  of  print, 
along  with  other  Poems  not  hitherto  pub- 
lished, and  a  few  from  a  volume  of  '  Lyrical 
Poems '  previously  published,  all  having  a 
common  object,  viz.,  the  cultivation  of  reli- 
gious reverence  without  sectarian  dogmatism, 
and  ot  poetical  sentiment  tending  not  so 
much  to  amuse  the  imagination  or  to  tickle 
the  fancy  as  to  purify  the  passions  and  to 
regulate  the  conduct  of  life.  That  the  com- 
position  of  these   Poems,  as    occasion  offered, 


vi  PREFACE. 

has  been  a  source  of  intellectual  enlargement 
and  of  moral  elevation  to  myself  I  am  well 
convinced ;-  and  I  am  not  without  hope  that 
they  may  act  as  a  salutary  stimulus  to  others, 
who  know  that  there  is  one  thing  needful, 
viz.,  the  formation  of  a  noble  character,  and 
that  everything  else  is  vanity.  As  for  the 
philosophy  that  lies  at  the  bottom  of  these 
Poems — and  all  true  poetry  is  a  concrete 
philosophy, — it  is  only  a  modern  expression 
of  the  Nineteenth  Psalm,  recognising,  as  that 
noble  composition  does,  the  essential  unity 
and  divine  significance  alike  of  the  physical 
world  without  and  the  moral  world  within, 
as  a  glorious  biform  manifestation  of  the 
great  uncaused  Cause  of  the  Universe, — an 
altogether  different  wisdom — at  once  more  pro- 
found and  more  complete — from  that  meagre 
dissection  and   tabulation  of  the  soulless   out- 


PREFACE.  vii 

side  of  things  whicfi,   with  a   forward   display 

of  knife  and  microscope,  has  in  these  latter 
days  been  palmed  off  upon  us  for  a  philosophy. 
But  it  is  too  late  in  the  day  to  set  up 
Epicurus  on  the  throne  of  Plato,  however  the 
advocates  of  our  monkey-brotherhood  may 
delight  themselves,  and  amuse  a  few  gaping 
people,  by  turning  things  outside  in  and  upside 
down  for  a  season. 

JOHN  S.  BLACKIE. 

Edinburgh,  December  1S75. 


In  Him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being. 

ST.  PAUL. 


The  Ki?igdo?n  of  Heaven  is  within  you. 

I.  H.  S. 


In    Christ  yesus   there   is    neither   eireumcision  not 
imcircumcision,  but  a  new  creatine.  ST.  PAUL. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

ADVENT-HYMN, i 

JOHN  THE  BAPTIST, 7 

HYMN  TO  THE  TRINITY, 14 

TO  THE  DIVINE  SPIRIT 10 

TO  THE  SAVIOUR *4 

ODE  TV  CHRISTIAN  LOVE at 

NIGHT. 31 

A  SABBATH  MEDITATION, 34 

THE  SEA, 44 

LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  MEN,          ....  43 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  JESUS, 54 

PRAYER  FOR  DIRECTION, 57 

THE  GOD  OF  GLEE, 60 

LA  IVS  OF  NA  TURE,   .........  66 

WHAT  IS  NATURE, 69 

ALL   THINGS  ARE  FULL  OF  GOD 73 

PRAYER, .  77 

SABBATH  HYMN  ON  THi:  MOUNTAINS,         .                 .  79 

TRIMURTI, '.  33 

SANCTE  SOCRATES,  OR  A  PRO  NOBIS,      ...  96 

THE  HOPE  OF  THE  HE  TERODOX 102 

0  HEAR  MY  PRAYER 106 

THE  SABBATH  DAY 1.59 

b 


CONTENTS. 


HEROES  OF  FAITH  .— 

R  ULLION  GREEN, 

LINES  WRITTEN  AT  MAGUS  MUIR, 

MARTIN  LUTHER,  .       '. 

PATRICK  HAMILTON,    . 

WALTER  MYLN,       .... 

THE  GENEROUS  EVANGELIST, 
BENEDICITE 


113 
I2C 

I23 
132 
136 
I50 
.156 


cStfttgs  of  S?tf£. 

THE  RIVER:  AN  ALLEGORY  OF  LIFE,  x6i 

BEAUTIFUL   WORLD,       .        .  .  ...  165 

MOMENTS, 169 

SOW  NOT  IN  SORROW, i73 

THE  MUSICAL  FROGS, i79 

THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  PRAYER, 183 

A  SONG  OF   THREE   WORDS  :     ORARE,  LABORARE, 

CANTARE, 186 

GA  UDEAMUS  IGITUR, 189 

A  SONG  OF  ST.  SOCRATES, 192 

A  SONG  OF  SUMMER, 196 

FAREWELL   TO  SUMMER, 199 

A  'SONG  OF  THE  COUNTRY, 204 

A  SONG  OF  FATHERLAND  BY  A   TRAVELLER,  .        .  207 

A  SONG  OF  FREEMASONRY, 210 

A  REVOLUTIONARY  ODE, 216 

A  DIRGE, 222 

ADVICE  TO  A  FAVOURITE  STUDENT  ON  LEAVING 

COLLEGE 224 

THE  GARDEN:  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY  ON  HER  BIRTH- 
DAY,       ...  231 

THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE,  .  236 


^>ongs  of  Keltgtcn. 


3Vbbcnt-|)iimn. 

O,  He  comes  ! — Messiah  neareth, 

Jesus  comes ; 
Xot  with  pomp  the  God  appeareth, 

Meek  He  comes. 
Pride  displays  no  blazoned  banners, 
Vanity  no  false,  fair  manners, 

Where  He  comes. 

Not  with  Conqueror's  ring  and  rattle, 

Wild  wars  glee, 
Ushered  by  a  bloody  battle, 

Cometh  He. 
As  the  West  wind's  gentle  blowing 
Wakes  life's  mystic  power  of  growing, 

Thus  doth  He. 


AD  VENT-HYMN. 

Caesar,  'mid  thy  legions'  thunder, 

Dost  thou  hear  1 
Hark  !  from  Heaven  a  hymn  of  wonder 

Full  and  clear  : — 
'  Open  wide  the  blissful  portals, 
Peace  on  Earth,  goodwill  to  Mortals  !; 

Charms  the  ear ! 

Rome,  beneath  thy  glittering  armour, 

Grimly  gored, 
Iron  Mother,  bloody  charmer, 

Sheathe  the  sword ! 
Shall  thy  natal  wolf  still  claim  thee  1 
Lo !  I  send  a  power  to  tame  thee, 

Saith  the  Lord. 

Forms  of  vain  will-worship  mumbling. 

Priests,  have  done  ! 
Creeds  with  creeds  incongruous  jumbling, 

Know  the  one  ! 


ADVENT-HYMN. 

See  the  end  of  all  confusion, 
Common  truth  of  all  delusion, 
In  the  Son  ! 


Vainly  sundering  walls  thou  raisest. 

Pharisee  ! 
Orthodox  in  vain  thou  praisest 

Bound  to  thee ! 
Nought  is  isolated,  single, 
All  in  brothered  rays  do  mingle 

Under  Me. 

Subtle  Doctors  sagely  fooling 

Humankind, 
With  crude  dogmas  harshly  schooling 

Infant  mind, 
Kick  the  solemn  architecture  ! 
Vainly  shall  a  blind  director 

Lead  the  blind. 


ADVENT-HYMN. 

Wise  men,  something  still  conceiving 

Like  the  true, 
Busy  brains  still  idly  weaving 

Something  new, 
Like  a  star  in  strength  upshooting, 
I  the  end  of  all  disputing 

Show  to  you  ! 

Gape  not !  gaze  not !  I  display  not 

Dazzling  shows ; 
With  loud  logic  I  gainsay  not 

Wrangling  foes. 
Noiseless  victories  ye  shall  win  you  ! 
Seed  Heaven-planted — look  within  you, 

There  it  grows  ! 

Little  seed  !  thy  hidden  virtue 

Stirs  Time's  womb ; 
The  bright  promise  thou  art  heir  to 

Lights  the  tomb : 


ADVENT-HYMX. 

Now  the  unvalued  dust  thee  covers, 
Soon,  the  sought  of  many  lovers, 
Thou  shalt  bloom. 


Simple  Truth  !  while  brilliant  blunders 

Fools  achieve, 
Thou  thy  quiet  chain  of  wonders 

Wisely  weave : 
Where  strong  hate  to  love  surrenders, 
From  the  strife  that  pride  engenders, 

Work  reprieve. 

From  the  hard  rock  let  the  fountain 

Blithely  dart ! 
Cleave  the  foul  mist,  move  the  mountain, 

Faithful  heart ! 
Let  the  stony  frozen  regions 
Blush  with  life  by  high  religion's 

Magic  art ! 


AD  VENT-HYMN. 

Kings  shall  own  thee ;  knaves  shall  use  thee 

Fools  despise ; 
Babbling  Doctors  shall  confuse  thee, 

Witless  wise  : 
Rival  sages  shall,  in  duty, 
On  thy  common  web  of  beauty, 

Stamp  their  dyes. 

Go  !  and,  though  my  hope  deceive  me, 

In  thy  plan 
I  will  hope ;  I  will  believe  thee 

While  I  can. 
Go  and  conquer  ! — If  thou  win  not, 
Earth  may  crack,  and  God  will  sin  not 

Cursing  Man. 


John  the  $a})ti0t. 

\  1  7 HO  is  he  in  hairy  raiment 

Clad,  i'  the  wilderness 
Preaching  freely  without  payment 

Truth  and  righteousness  1 
Whoso  hears  and  not  despises, 
Him  with  water  he  baptises, 

In  the  contrite  hour ; 
Whoso  hears  with  haughty  scorning, 
Him  he  smites  with  holy  warning, 

And  with  prophefs  power. 

Swarms  the  city  from  its  corners, 

Motley  bad  and  good ; 
Thoughtless  hearts  and  heavy  mourners 

Haste  to  Jordan's  flood  : 


JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. 

Some  for  sin  their  souls  abasing ; 
Some  to  feed  their  eye  with  gazing ; 

Some  to  search  and  try 
With  captious  craft  the  shaggy  preacher. 
And  themselves  to  teach  the  teacher ; 

Some  they  know  not  why. 

Comes  the  Rabbi,  with  a  stately, 

Measured  gravity ; 
With  a  solemn  air,  sedately 

Comes  the  Pharisee ; 
Wide  his  robe,  and  on  the  border 
Sacred  texts,  in  well-marched  order 

Show  his  purpose  plain, 
With  a  nice  and  fenced  existence, 
Far  to  keep,  at  holy  distance, 

Every  touch  profane. 

Comes  fat  priest,  and  pontiff  portly, 
With  a  bloated  face ; 


JOHX  THE  BAPTIST. 

Came  Herodian,  smooth  and  courtly, 

With  a  gay  grimace. 
Came  the  Essene  from  his  station 
Of  secluded  contemplation 

With  mild  gravity ; 
With  an  eye  of  twinkling  keenness, 
And  a  smile  of  cold  sereneness, 

Came  the  Sadducee. 


Comes  the  soldier  firm  and  steady, 

Gallant,  light,  and  gay, 
With  his  quick  hand  ever  ready 

For  the  rising  fray. 
Comes  the  usurer,  dry  and  meagre, 
Comes  the  publican,  sharp  and  eager 

For  great  Caesar's  penny. 
WTith  a  train  of  silken  pages 
Comes  the  rich  man ;  with  scant  wages 

Come  the  burdened  many. 


JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. 

What  saith  he,  the  wayside  preacher, 

To  this  motley  crew? 
Doth  he  come  a  cunning  teacher 

Of  lore  strange  and  new  ? 
Hath  he  drawn  without  omission. 
Point  for  point,  a  long  confession, 

To  inform  the  brain  1 
Piled  a  proud  word-architecture, 
Fenced  it  round  with  fine  conjecture, 

And  distinctions  vain? 

Hath  he  wove  a  girth  to  measure 

God,  a  chain  to  bind 
The  Infinite,  and  mapped  at  leisure 

The  omniscient  Mind? 
Hath  he  trimmed  an  old  theogony, 
Cumbrous  reared  a  new  cosmogony, 

To  employ  the  schools  ? 
Not  with  speculation  vainest 
Preacheth  he  ; — with  wisdom  plainest, 

And  with  simplest  rules. 


JOHX  THE  BAPTIST. 

Thus  he  speaks — '  Repent !     Repentance 

Smooths  Messiah's  way  ; 
'Tis  an  old  and  weighty  sentence, 

Weigh  it  well  to-day. 
Hast  thou  nursed  a  sin  ? — confess  it ; 
Hast  thou  done  a  wrong  ? — redress  it : 

And,  with  just  desire, 
Ask  no  more  than  what  is  due  thee : 
Be  content,  when  offered  to  thee, 

With  thy  lawful  hire. 

'Say  not,  with  vain  pride  elated, 

14  God's  own  people  we, 
Tracing  high  a  hoary-dated 

Patriarch  pedigree." 
Peopled  earth  is  thickly  studded 
With  the  children  common-blooded, 

Of  the  great  I  AM  ; 
From  the  hard  flint,  at  his  pleasure, 
God  can  raise  up  without  measure 

Sons  to  Abraham. 


JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. 

'  Hear,  whose  barren  trunk  hath  cumbered 

Now  too  long  the  ground, 
Saith  the  Lord,  your  days  are  numbered ; 

Hark  !  with  crashing  sound, 
Falls  the  axe  that  fells  the  fruitless  ! 
Toils  he  not  with  labour  bootless 

Who  now  smites  the  tree. 
He  his  winnowed  wheat  shall  garner, 
But  like  empty  chaff  the  scorner 

Burn  with  fire  shall  he.' 

Thus  he  preached  to  great  and  small  men, 

Of  the  human  right ; 
Like  the  blessed  sun,  on  all  men 

Shedding  simple  light. 
O  !  wise  are  they  who  hear  such  preaching, 
Not  too  high  for  common  teaching 

In  life's  common  ways  ; 
Not  with  proud  pretence  ballooning, 
Not  with  gay  parade  festooning, 

To  catch  the  vulgar  gaze. 


JOHX  THE  BAPTIST.  13 

Flap  who  will  the  air-borne  pinion, 

Sweeping  tar  and  free; 
Solid  earth  be  my  dominion, 

Baptist  John,  with  thee  i 
In  the  plainest  path  of  duty, 
Stamping  daily  things  with  beauty. 

I  with  thee  will  tread  ; 
Where  thy  warning  finger  pointed 
1  would  follow,  where  the  anointed 

Saviour  lowly  led  ! 


ISfemn  ia  the  ^riuitg. 

i. 

THIRST  of  all  things  primeval,  hoar 

Was  Thought,  self-throned  in  glory, 

Brooding  with  shaping  might  before 

Each  new  Creation's  story : 

An  unvoiced  strength,  a  quiet  power 

Still  pondering,  still  conceiving, 

Unfathomed  depth  from  hour  to  hour 

With  deathless  virtue  heaving; 

Exhaustless,  infinite  to  produce, 

That  in  its  gentle  going 

Weldeth  the  limbless  and  the  loose 

To  reasoned  beauty  growing. 

Hail,  glorious  Thought,  silent,  sublime, 

From  thy  divines t  nature, 


HYMN  TO  THE  TRINITY.  I  $ 

Sprang  worlds  on  worlds  from  dateless  time 

First  Father,  First  Creator, 

Voice  forth  the  hymn,  loud  paeans  roll, 

Ye  thinking  souls  from  pole  to  pole, 

And  round  your  centre  gather ! 

Far  peal  his  praise  from  jubilant  throat, 

Soul  of  all  soul,  thought  of  all  thought, 

The  hidden  God,  the  Father. 


r 


Second  of  things  the  Word  forth-voiced 
From  the  o'cr-laden  bosom 
Of  Thought,  that  with  itself  rejoiced 
And  shook  redundant  blossom  j 
Swift-winged  it  flew,  and  journeying  far 
Like  wave  on  wave  it  bounded, 
And  filled  all  space  with  vocal  war 
Of  joy  with  joy  confounded. 
Prophetic  Word  what  wealth  shall  be 
Of  star-eyed  expectation, 


16  HYMN  TO.  THE  TRINITY. 

While  Hope  and  Faith  attend  on  thee, 

Thou  first  bright  incarnation 

Of  primal  Thought  divine  !  thou  seed 

With  eager  promise  swelling, 

And  with  strong  pulse  and  measured  speed 

More  stable  growth  compelling  ! 

Voice  ye  the  hymn,  with  pseans  brim, 

Your  praise  full-throated  pour  to  him 

From  whom  all  Voices  run  ! 

Ye  swelling  hearts  rvith  high  hopes  stirred, 

Hymn  ye  the  prime  prophetic  Word, 

The  published  God,  the  Son. 


III. 


Third  of  all  things  forth  marched  at  length 

The  Deed  :  soft  breezy  blowing 

At  first ;  anon  to  stout-limbed  strength 

Of  compact  body  growing. 

Infcrming  Spirit  !  whence  came  the  birth 

Of  fluent  air  and  river 


HYMN  TO  THE  TRINITY.  17 

And  fire  with  heaving  heart,  and  Earth 

That  standeth  stable  ever. 

The  spangled  web  of  vital  strife 

Thou  weavest ;  Time  thy  story ; 

The  world  thy  temple  ;  human  life 

Thy  battle-field  of  glory. 

Soft  shod,  or  with  dread  thunder  pace 

Thy  sleepless  march  thou  goest, 

The  thing  that  was  stamped 'with  thy  trace, 

The  thing  to  be,  thou  knowest. 

Forth  voice  the  hymn  !  from  pole  to  pole 
Him  praise  who  breathed  into  your  soul 
The  strength  which  ye  inherit ! 
Each  faithful  heart  that  nobly  strives, 
Him  praise,  the  life  of  all  that  lives 
The  all-working  God,  the  Spirit. 
First  Thought,  first  Word,  first  Deed,  these 

three. 
Intelligential  Trinity, 
That  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  be 

B 


*  HYMN  TO  THE  TRINITY. 

One  mystical  Divinity ! 

Give  ear,  0  Earth,  and  know  the  name, 

The  heart's  deep  awe  commanding ! 

Fall  on  thy  knees,  O  man,  and  blame 

Thy  brutish  understanding ! 

Praise  Him,  the  great,  the  Triune  God, 

Ye  stable-rooted  mountains ! 

Ye  forests  old,  that  darkly  nod  ! 

Ye  full-mouthed  gushing  fountains  ! 

Titanic  tempests  organ-roar, 

Peal  thou  the  strong  Divinity ; 

Unsleeping  wave  that  licks  the  shore 

Sound  thou  the  sleepless  Trinity  ! 

All  million-throated  things  that  be, 

Voices  of  life's  exuberant  sea 

With  mingled  hymns  adore  ! 

The  earthly  and  the  heavenly  host 
To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost 

Sing  glory  evermore  I 


^Tx»  the  ptbhtc  gpirtt. 

O  PIRIT  that  shaped  the  formless  chaos, 
Breath  that  stirred  the  sluggish  deep, 
When  the  primal  crude  creation 

Started  from  its  dateless  sleep ; 
Spirit  that  heaved  the  granite  mountains 

From  the  central  fiery  wells, 
Breath  that  drew  the  rolling  rivers 
From  the  welkin's  dewy  cells, 
Spirit  of  motion, 
Earth  and  ocean 
Moulding  into  various  life, 
Within,  without  us, 
And  round  about  us 
Weaving  all  in  friendly  strife  : 


TO  THE  DIVINE  SPIRIT. 

Come,  O  come,  thou  heavenly  guest, 
Shape  a  new  world  within  my  breast ! 


Spirit  that  taught  the  holy  fathers 

Wandering  through  the  desert  drear, 
To  know  and  feel,  through  myriad  marchings, 

One  eternal  presence  near. 
Breath  that  touched  the  Hebrew  prophets' 

Lips  with  words  of  winged  fire, 
Through  the  dubious  gloom  of  ages, 
Kindling  hope  and  high  desire : 
Spirit  revealing 
To  pure  feeling, 
In  the  inward  parts  of  man, 
Fitful-shining 
Dim-divining 
Vast  foreshadowings  of  Thy  plan  ; 
Come,  O  come,  thou  prophet  guest, 
Watch  and  wait  within  my  breast 


TO  THE  DIVIXE  STIR  IT,  21 

Spirit,  that  o'er  Thine  own  Messiah 

Hovered  like  a  brooding  dove, 
When  Earth's  haughty  lords  He  conquered, 

By  the  peaceful  march  of  love. 
Breath  that  hushed  loud-vaunting  Caesars, 

And  in  triumph  yoked  to  Thee 
Iron  Rome,  and  savage  Scythia, 
Bonded  brethren  and  the  free. 
Spirit  of  union, 
And  communion 
Of  devoted  heart  with  heart, 
Pure  and  holy 
Sure  and  slowly 
Working  out  thy  boastless  part : 
Come,  thou  calmly-conquering  guest, 
Rule  and  reign  within  my  breast  1 


Spirit  that,  when  free-thoughted  Europe 
With  the  triple-crowned  despot  strove, 


TO  THE  DIVINE  SPIRIT 

In  the  gusty  Saxon's  spirit 

Thy  soul-stirring  music  wove ; 
Then  when  pride's  piled  architecture 

At  a  poor  monk's  truthful  word 
Crashing  fell,  and  thrones  were  shaken 
At  the  whisper  of  the  Lord. 
Spirit  deep-lurking, 
Secret-working 
Weaver  of  strange  circumstance, 
All  whose  doing 
Is  rise  or  ruin 
Named  by  shallow  mortals  chance ; 
Come,  let  fruitful  deeds  attest 
Thy  plastic  virtue,  in  my  breast ! 


Spirit,  that  sway'st  the  will  of  mortals, 
Every  wish,  and  every  hope, 

Shaping  to  Thy  forethought  purpose 
All  their  striving,  all  their  scope. 


TO  THE  DIVINE  SPIRIT.  23 

Central  tide  that  heavest  onward 

Wave  and  wavelet,  surge  and  spray, 
Making  wrath  of  man  to  praise  Thee, 
And  his  pride  to  pave  Thy  way : 
Spirit  that  "rorkest. 
Where  Thou  lurkest, 
Death  from  life,  and  day  from  night, 
Peace  from  warring, 
And  from  jarring, 
Songs  of  triumph  and  delight ; 
Come,  O  come,  Thou  heavenly  guest, 
Work  all  Thy  will  within  my  breast ! 


f~\  THOU,  by  men  the  Saviour  vaunted, 
Beyond  all  mighty  names  that  were, 

Invoked  ana  chanted ! 
Supreme  above  all  strifes  that  stir 
This  troublous  zone,  as  high  in  Heaven, 
Vaulting  the  dark  clouds  thunder-riven, 
Hangs  poised  the  dome  of  lucid  day 

Serenely  stable ; 
If  thou,  as  when  our  fleshly  frame 
To  thy  pure  spirit  gave  place  and  name, 

To  save  art  able, 
Me,  thy  poor  brother — for  I  may  call 
Thee  with  what  name  thou  gav'st  to  all — 


TO  THE  SAVIOl 

From  lawless  thoughts,  and  heartless  deeds, 
And  from  the  strife  of  harnessed  creeds 
Save — O  my  Saviour  ! 

Proud  temples  to  the  mighty  Saviour 
The  boastful  sons  of  men  have  raised 

"With  fair  behaviour, 
With  laboured  litanies  have  praised 
A  Saviour's  name.     Even  so  of  old, 
Who  tricked  the  prophets'  tombs  with  gold 
Thy  living  prophet's  person  nailed 

With  crucifixion  ; 
And  we  with  worship  of  thy  name 
Do  cheat  ourselves  of  Thee,  nor  blame 

The  shallow  fiction. 
Where  love  is  cold,  and  loose  lust  reigns, 
And  pride  ramps  insolent  in  the  veins, 
Where  earthy  souls  heap  earthy  dross, 
And  deedless  fear  shrinks  back  from  loss, 
Art  thou  the  Saviour  ? 


26  TO  THE  SAVIOUR. 

By  the  green  waves  of  ancient  Constance, 
Convened  in  Christ  the  Saviour's  name, 

With  pomp  and  instance, 
The  scarlet-hatted  churchmen  came. 
And  kings  and  kaisers  with  the  cowl 
Were  leagued  that  day,  by  fair  or  foul 
To  smite  a  just  man's  truthful  front 

With  sore  infliction. 
Erect  up  stood  that  pale-faced  man, 
And  mildly  met  the  purple  ban 

Witli  contradiction. 
Hate,  Pride,  and  Fear,  with  axe  and  rod, 
And  pious  phrase,  assumed  the  god ; 
A  solemn  sentence  then  did  frame, 
And  burnt  the  just  man  in  the  name 

Of  Christ  the  Saviour. 

Even  so  ;  and  this  was  then  religion  ! 
But  look  within,  false  heart,  and  read 
In  that  home  region 


TO  THE  SAVIOUR.  27 

What  germs  of  strange  delusion  breed ; 
What  snake,  there  lurking  'neath  the  flower, 
Waits  but  the  tempter's  suasive  hour, 
When  he  in  some  new  guise  shall  show 

The  dear  temptation  : 
O  !  then,  whom  men  the  Saviour  call, 
From  stumbling  save  and  sudden  fall, 

And  sheer  prostration  ! 
From  loveless  will  and  untamed  mougnt, 
From  vain  desire  and  fancies  naugnt, 
From  the  deaf  ear  that  hears  no  caU, 
From  pride  that  pioneers  a  fail, 

Be  thou  my  Saviour  ! 


€)&»,  txr  Ghtt&ttsit  Job*. 

"DARDS  sin<j  of  love,  and  songsters  of  the  wood 
Thrill  with  strong  love  the  leafy  solitude, 

When  Spring  walks  forth  in  power; 
Harsh  natures  melt ;  the  cold  and  flinty  glow; 
And  close-locked  hearts  expand  in  flowery  show, 

When  passion's  fervid  hour 
Usurps  them.     But  not  passion's  subtlest  flame, 
That  stirs  the  gentle  bard's  nice-tempered  frame, 

Nor  mated  warbler's  lay, 
That  rolls  in  luscious  streams  through  leafy  wood, 
Nor  that  soft  thrill  which  melts  each  harshest  mood, 

Can  match  thy  queenly  sway, 


ODE  TO  CHRIS TIA N  LOVE.  29 

Strong  Christian  love  !  Thou  with  no  partial  fire 
Dost  stir  the  breast ;  no  fitful  wild  desire 

Tosses  the  soul  serene, 
Where  thy  calm  ardour  glows ;  but,  like  the  ray 
Of  that  great  Light,  which  rules  the  constant  day, 

With  life-diffusing  sheen, 
So  thou,  bright-seated  on  the  central  throne 
Of  holy  hearts  dost  shine.     Thus  thou  wert  known 

To  faithful  men  of  yore; 
Thee  Moses  knew,  when,  through  the  desert  track, 
He  led  the  unstable  stiff-necked  army  back 

From  Egypt's  senile  shore, 
To  their  ancestral  hills.     The  preacher  Paul 
Owned  thy  intensest  sway,  when  to  the  call 

Of  God  he  oped  his  ear, 
And  strong  by  thee,  like  feeble  witnes,  he  snapt 
The  bonds  of  custom,  and,  in  transport  rapt, 

Saw  heavenly  visions  clear. 
Then  o'er  the  Earth  with  winged  tread  he  flew, 
And  East  and  West  his  burning  message  knew ; 
The  dull  barbarian's  home 


30  ODE  TO  CHRISTIAN  LOVE. 

With  rapture  hailed  his  heart-reviving  note  ; 
His  word  with  quick  regeneration  smote 

The  tainted  heart  of  Rome, 
And  subtle  Greece  with  her  light-vagrant  eye 
Screens  from  reproof  her  fair  idolatry, 

Unweeded  fancy's  flower 
Vainly.     No  more  glib  Athens  may  dispute, 
And  Corinth's  tinkling  harlotry  is  mute, 

When  Paul,  with  earnest  power, 
Proclaims  the  cross. — O  Thou  inspiring  God, 
Whose  shaping  virtue  doth  inform  the  clod, 

With  warm  life  teeming  ever ; 
With  some  pure  spark  of  thine  all-conquering  love 
Touch  Thou  my  heart,  that  all  my  ways  may  prove 

Thy  strength,  which  faileth  never  ! 


flight. 

'Ifpa  Nd£ — Homer. 

IT  OLY  Night  !  in  silence 

From  thy  starry  throne 
Swaying,  thee  I  worship, 
Silent  and  alone. 

Holy  Night !  how  calmly 
Sails  the  mellow  moon 

Through  the  deep  blue  welkin, 
Fairer  than  the  noon. 

Mellow  Moon  !  how  gently 
Through  the  voiceless  night, 

O'er  the  sleeping  waters, 
Streams  thy  silver  light. 


32  NIGHT. 


Holy  Night !  how  lovely- 
Shoot,  with  sudden  birth. 

Hosts  of  shimmering  arrows 
From  the  lambent  north. 

Holy  Night !  thou  reignest 
Solemn,  still,  serene ; 

Hushed  the  tribes  of  mortals 
Bow  before  their  queen. 

Now  the  battling  voices 
Of  the  babbling  throng 

Cease  ;  and  thou  may'st  listen, 
As  it  treads  along, 

To  the  steps  of  Godhead 
Beating  march  of  Time, 

Slowly,  surely,  wisely, 
Beautiful,  sublime ; 


NIGHT.  33 


Beating  thought  and  feeling, 
Beating  vital  power 

In  renewed  creation's 
Pulse,  from  hour  to  hour. 

Holy  Night !  devoutly 
While  I  worship  thee, 

Babbling  Folly's  echo 
Dies  away  from  me. 


&  <Sabbath  jfteiiitatum. 

THE  Sabbath  bells  are  travelling  o'er  the  hill; 

The  gentle  breeze  across  the  fresh-reaped  fields 

Blows  fitful ;  scarcely,  on  the  broad  smooth  bay, 

With  full  white-gleaming  sail,  the  slow  ship  moves  ; 

Thin  float  the  clouds;  serene  the  mountain  stands; 

And  all  the  plain  in  hallowed  beauty  lies. 

God  of  the  Sabbath,  on  thy  holy  day 

'Tis  meet  to  praise  Thee  !     In  the  high-domed  fane, 

Glorious  with  all  the  legendary  pomp 

Of  pictured  saints,  where  skilful  singers  swell 

The  curious  chant,  or  on  the  lonely  hill, 

Where,  on  grey  cliff  and  purple  heather,  shines 

The  shadowless  sun  at  noon,  Thou  hear'st  alike. 

Vainly  the  narrow  wit  of  narrow  men 

34 


A  SA  BBA  Til  MKDIT.  I  Tft  >X.  35 

Within  the  walls  which  priestly  lips  have  blest, 
In  the  fixed  phrases  of  a  formal  creed, 
Would  crib  thy  presence;  Thou  art  more  than  all 
The  shrines  that  hold  Thee ;  and  our  wisest  are 
Are  but  the  lispings  of  a  prattling  child, 
To  spell  the  Infinite.     Kings  have  drawn  the  sword, 
Lawyers  have  wrangled,  to  declare  thy  being ; 
And  convocations  of  high-mitred  men 
The  foaming  vials  of  sacerdotal  wrath 
Outpoured,  and,  with  tempestuous  proud  conceit, 
Shook  the  vast  world  about  a  phrase  to  name  Thee, 
In  vain.     Thou,  like  the  thin  impassive  air, 
Dost  cheat  the  grasp  of  subtlest-thoughted  sage  ; 
And  half  our  high  theology  is  but 
The  shadow,  which  man's  poor  and  clouded  ken 
Hath  cast  across  thy  brightness.     I  would  sing 
Thy  praise  with  humble  heart,  and,  like  the  lyre 
Wind-swept,  the  comings  of  thy  breath  would  wait 
To  wake  my  rapture.     Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  hills, 
And  nod  His  praise,  ye  sharp  far-stretching  lines 


36  A  SABBATH  MEDITATION. 

Of  crags  storm-shattered,  and  ye  jagged  peaks 
Sky-cleaving  !  you  His  mighty  power  upshot 
From  the  red  ocean  of  His  nethermost  fire, 
In  primal  ages  :  there  inform  ye  lay, 
In  seething  lakes,  your  molten  masses  huge, 
In  turbid  waves,  with  inorganic  roll, 
Far-heaving  through  the  dark  abysmal  space 
Chaotic ;  thence  His  word  creative  hove 
Your  marshalled  ridges ;  rank  on  rank  ye  rose, 
Granite  and  gneiss,  and  every  ordered  kind 
That  careful  science  counts ;  the  giant  frame 
Of  this  fair  world,  of  peace-enfolden  vales 
Storm-fronting  fence,  and  bulwark  ever  sure. 
Ye  mountain  torrents,  with  far-sweeping  foam, 
Ye  leaping  cataracts,  and  deep-swirling  pools, 
Ye  streams  with  the  full-gathered  grandeur  rolling 
Of  countless  rills,  from  huge  far-sundered  Alps, 
Ye  waters,  with  your  thousand  voices,  praise 
The  mighty  Lord  !  He  of  your  sleepless  floods 
Is  the  unsleeping  soul.     All  motion  comes 


A  SABBA  Til  MEDITA  TION.  37 

From  Him.     Thou  Ocean,  with  thy  living  belt 
Girdling  the  Earth,  whether  serene,  as  now, 
Thou  liest,  licking  with  an  innocent  ripple 
The  feet  o'  the  green-throned  isles,  or,  like  a  spurred 
And  furious  charger,  wild  from  coast  to  coast 
Drivest  far-sounding — thou,  in  all  thy  changes, 
Art  full  of  God ;  yea,  all  thy  works,  O  Lord, 
I    Are  full  of  Thee  !  and  who  is  dull  to  these 

Shall  from  the  teaching  of  the  schools  come  back 
With  beggarly  blindness.     He  shall  mount  in  vain 
His  telescope,  to  spy  Thee  in  the  clouds, 
Who  in  green  herb  and  starry  flower,  beneath 
His  vagrant  foot,  hath  failed  to  see  and  love 
Thy  manifest  beauty.     O  make  clear  my  sense, 
Thou  great  Revealer,  to  the  grand  array 
Of  open  mysteries  that  encompass  round 
Our  daily  walk  with  Godhead,  that  no  vain 
And  wordy  fool  may  cheat  my  facile  ear 
With  echoed  vollies  of  man's  crude  conceit, 
Misnamed  God's  thunder  !     From  Thyself  direct 


38  A  SABBATH  MEDITATION. 

Thy  secret  comes  to  all,  whom  Thou  shalt  deem 
Worthy  to  find  it.     Councils,  doctors,  priests, 
Are  but  the  signs  that  point  us  to  the  spring 
Whence  flow  thy  living  waters ;  and,  alas  ! 
I  Too  oft  with  wavering,  or  with  cowardly  hand 
Back-turned,  they  point.     Teach  Thou  my  stablished 

soul 
To  seek  Thy  teaching,  Lord,  and  trust  in  Thee. 


The  generations  of  uncounted  men 

Have  hymned  Thy  praises,  Lord.     Their  stammering 

tongues 
With  strange  crude  doctrine  magnify  the  power 
Of  Him,  whose  vastness  they  were  fain  to  grasp, 
But  could  not.     Even  the  folly  of  the  fool 
Shall  praise  Thee,  Lord.     Thou  hast  a  place  for  all. 
The  wicked  and  the  weak  are  but  the  steps, 
Whereon  the  wise  shall  mount,  to  see  Thy  face ; 
And  mighty  churches,  and  high-vaunted  faiths, 


A  SABBA  Til  MEDITA  TION.  39 

Arc  but  the  schools,  wherein  thy  centuries  train 
The  infant  peoples  to  the  manly  reach 
Of  pure  devotion ;  and  most  wise  are  they, 
Who  hear  one  hymn  of  varied  truth  through  all 
The  harmonious  discord  of  strange  witnesses, 
Prophets  and  martyrs,  priests,  and  meek-eyed  saints, 
And  rapt  diviners,  with  imperfect  tongue, 
Babbling  thy  praises.     Egypt's  brutish  gods, 
Dog-faced,  hawk-headed,  crocodile,  and  cat, 
Snake-eating  ibis,  and  the  spotted  bull, 
Not  without  apt  significance  did  type 
Thy  severed  functions  to  a  sense-bound  race. 
In  sea  and  sky,  green  tree,  and  flowing  stream, 
In  flying  bird,  and  creeping  beast,  they  found 
Pictorial  speech,  and  speaking  signs  of  what 
They  crudely  guessed  of  Thee.     To  clearer  Greeks 
Stout  Briareus,  celestial  Titans  strong, 
And  supreme  Jove,  with  weight  of  thunderous  locks, 
Throned  like  a  king,  and  sceptre  in  his  hand, 
And  ministrant  eagle,  spake  thy  mighty  power 


40  A  SABBATH  MEDITATION. 

With  awful  grace.     Each  seized  a  part  of  Thee, 

And,  with  a  fond  assurance,  deemed  to  hold 

Thy  whole  Infinity  in  earthly  bonds 

For  human  needs.     Nor  less  the  Christian  priest 

Portentous  erred,  when  with  rash  hand  he  clutched 

The  awful  Triune  symbol,  and  defined 

The  immeasurable  Majesty  Supreme 

With  curious  phrase  and  scientific  rule, 

And  with  the  thorns  of  wiry  logic  fenced 

Thy  bristling  name,  from  touch  of  thought  profane  ; 

Then,  from  a  throne  high-seated,  and  girt  round 

With  triple-tiered  presumption,  grasped  thy  bolt, 

Sported  thy  thunder,  and  with  thy  best  friends 

Filled  a  far-dreaded  Hell,  that  he  might  seem 

A  god  on  Earth,  whom  awe-struck,  grovelling  men 

Might  see,  and  feel,  and  handle.     The  pale  monk, 

Wasting  his  flesh  within  a  cold  damp  cell, 

And  straining  his  dull  vision,  till  he  saw 

God's  features,  in  the  dim  putrescent  light 

Of  his  own  sick  imaginings — this  man  caught 


A  SABBATH  MEDITATION. 

A  glimpse  of  Thee,  and,  with  such  fiery  haste 
Did  hold  Thee,  and  with  prostrate  worship  hug, 
That  nevermore  his  head  he  dared  to  lift 
Erect,  and  with  proud-sweeping  glance  survey 
The  riches  of  thy  wide  luxuriant  world, 
Man's  privilege. — On  so  nice  a  pivot  turns 
True  wisdom  :  here  an  inch,  or  there,  we  swerve 
From  the  just  balance  ;  by  too  much  we  sin, 
And  half  our  errors  are  but  truths  unpinned. 


The  errors  of  Thy  creatures  praise  Thee,  Lord. 
Not  they  who  err  are  damned  ;  but  who,  being  wrom 
In  obdurate  persistency  to  err 
Refuse  all  bettering.     Hope  for  such  is  none. 
Hope  lives  for  all,  who  flounder  boldly  on 
Through  quaggy  bogs,  till  firmer  footing  found 
Gives  glorious  prospect.     One  Deceiver  hau:;ts 
The  hearts  of  faithless  men  ;  his3  name  is  Fear. 
O  Thou,  who  ridest  glorious  through  the  skies, 


42  A  SABBATH  MEDITATION. 

In  thunder  or  in  sunshine  strong  the  same, 
The  Almighty  builder  of  this  fair  machine, 
Whose  beauty  blinds  star-eyed  philosophy, 
Whose  vastness  makes  our  staggered  thinking  pant 
For  utterance  vainly — Father  of  all  Power, 
Eternal  Fount  of  liberty  and  life, 
Free,  measureless,  unspent — if  e'er  my  voice 
Rose  to  thy  throne,  in  reverent  truthful  prayer, 
Slay  me  this  demon,  yellow  Fear,  that  maims 
The  arm  of  enterprise,  nips  the  bud  of  hope, 
And  freezes  the  great  ocean  of  our  life, 
That  should  run  riot  in  the  praise  of  Thee, 
With  wave  on  wave  of  proud  high-venturing  deeds. 
O  may  this  Sabbath,  with  its  gentle  dews 
Shed  by  thy  Spirit  on  my  chastened  soul, 
Restore  my  blighted  bud  of  thought,  and  lift 
This  low-crushed  life  into  a  mighty  tree, 
Branchy,  and  blooming  with  fair  summer  fruits 
Exuberant-clustered  ! — May  all  Sabbaths  be 
A  ripe  and  mellow  season  to  my  heart, 


A  SA  BBA  TH  MEDIT*  111  OX.  43 

Lovely  as  golden  autumn's  purple  eve, 

ial  as  sleep,  whence  the  tired  limb  refreshed 
Leaps  to  new  action,  and  appointed  toil, 
With  steady  hope,  sure  faith,  and  sober  j 


the  §e& 

Air  HAT  dost  thou  say, 
Thou  old  grey  sea, 
Thou  broad  briny  water 
To  me? 
With  thy  ripple  and  thy  plash, 
And  thy  waves  as  they  lash 
The  old  grey  rocks  on  the  shore  ? 
With  thy  tempests  as  they  roar, 
And  thy  crested  billows  hoar, 
And  thy  tide  evermore, 
Fresh  and  free  j 
With  thy  floods  as  they  come, 
And  thy  voice  never  dumb, 
What  thought  art  thou  speaking  to  me? 


THE  SKA.  45 

What  thing  should  I  say- 
On  this  bright  summer  day, 
Thou  strange  human  dreamer,  to  thee? 

One  wonder  the  same 

All  things  do  proclaim 
In  the  sky,  and  the  land,  and  the  sea ; 

'Tis  the  unsleeping  force 

Of  a  God  in  his  course, 
Whose  life  is  the  law  of  the  whole, 

As  he  breathes  out  his  power 

In  the  pulse  of  the  hour', 
And  the  march  of  the  years  as  they  roll ; 

You  may  measure  his  ways 

In  the  weeks  and  the  days, 
And  the  stars  as  they  wheel  round  the  pole, 

But  no  finger  is  thine 

To  touch  the  divine 
All-plastic,  all-permeant  soul, 

As  it  shapes  and  it  moulds, 

And  its  virtue  unfolds, 


46  THE  SEA. 

In  the  garden  of  things  as  they  grow, 
And  flings  forth  the  tide 
Of  its  strength  far  and  wide, 

In  wonders  above  and  below. 

Thou  huge-heaving  sea 

That  art  speaking  to  me 
Of  the  power  and  the  pride  of  a  God, 

I  would  travel  like  thee 

With  force  fresh  and  free 
Through  the  breadth  of  my  human  abode, 

Never  languid  and  low, 

But  with  bountiful  flow, 
Of  thoughts  that  are  kindred  to  God ; 

Ever  surging  and  streaming, 

Ever  beaming  and  gleaming, 
Like  the  lights  as  they  shift  on  thy  glass, 

Ever  swelling  and  heaving, 

And  largely  receiving 
The  beauty  of  things  as  they  pass. 


THE  SEA.  47 

Thou  broad-billowed  sea 

Never  sundered  from  thee 
May  I  wander  the  welkin  below; 

May  the  plash  and  the  roar 

Of  thy  waves  on  the  shore 
Beat  the  march  to  my  feet  as  they  go  \ 

Ever  strong,  ever  free, 

"When  the  breath  of  the  sea 
Like  the  fan  of  an  angel  I  know ; 

Ever  rising  with  power, 

To  the  call  of  the  hour, 

the  swell  of  thy  tides  as  they  flow. 


if t  ttp-  gour  3)  urn  its,  aU  Jttnt. 

A  SONG  OF  PRAISE  FOR  BRITISH  WORKMEN. 

(Tune—  Old  148th  Psalm.) 

I  FT  up  your  hymns,  all  men 
Who  scan  with  lordly  eye, 
And  mete  with  kingly  ken 
The  starry-peopled  sky ; 
Praise  ye  the  God 
Who  bade  ye  tread, 
With  lofty  head, 
Earth's  lowly  sod ! 

Time  was  when  ye  were  not ; 

Through  lightless  depths  forlorn 
The  Eternal  Father  shot 

His  ray,  and  ye  were  born. 


LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  MUX.  49 

Even  Him  praise  ye, 
Whose  quickening  light 
Redeems  from  night 
All  things  that  be. 

How  wondrous  each  fair  form 
Of  life  that  swarms  on  earth, 
Light  fowl  and  ringed  worm, 
And  stout  four-footed  birth  ! 
But,  lord  of  all, 
High-fronted  man 
To  crown  His  plan 
God's  voice  did  call. 

Look  forth,  O  man,  and  know 
Thy  glorious  mission  given 
To  rule  the  earth  below 

With  wisdom  lent  from  heaven. 
To  His  command 
Obedience  bring 

D 


50  LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  MEN 

Who  made  thee  king 
Of  sea  and  land  ! 

From  ice-bound  pole  to  pole, 
From  sunny  zone  to  zone, 
March  forth  with  venturous  soul 
And  claim  the  world  thine  own ; 
And  praise  Him  ever 
Who  bade  thy  hand 
Rule  sea  and  land 
With  proud  endeavour ! 

The  granite  boulders  vast 

Split  with  thy  mastering  wedge, 
The  gusty-driving  blast 
Rein  on  the  billow's  edge ; 
And  understand 
By  what  high  claim 
Thy  wit  doth  tame 
Both  sea  and  land. 


LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  MEN  51 

With  cylinder  and  beam 

And  fine-conducting  skill, 
Torture  the  straitened  steam 
To  work  thy  reasoned  will ; 
And  understand 
How  Godlike  Mind 
The  power  doth  bind 
Of  sea  and  land  ! 

With  bolt  and  bar  and  clamp 

And  strong-subduing  fire, 
And  chymick  virtue  stamp 
All  things  to  thy  desire ; 
For  God  in  heaven 
Such  shaping  skill 
To  man's  wise  will 
Hath  surely  given. 

Pile  high  th'  embattled  tower, 
And  where  the  huge  seas  roll 


52  LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  MEN 

With  arms  of  Titan  power 
Fling  forth  the  mighty  mole, 
Whose  strength  doth  save 
Brave  hearts  from  scaith 
Of  yawning  Death 
And  yeasty  grave  ! 

Stretch  forth  the  pendant  bridge, 
'Cross  the  broad-breasted  tide, 
And  round  the  steep-faced  ridge 
On  smoking  chariot  ride, 
Even  as  a  bird 
Well-used  to  soar 
His  plumy  oar 
Hath  lightly  stirred. 

And  let  thy  lordly  hest, 
And  thy  heart's  hot  desire 

Be  sped  to  East  and  West 

Swift  through  the  thrilling  wire, 


LIFT  UP  YOUR  HYMNS,  ALL  .V.  53 

O'er  earth  and  sea, 
Which  God  the  Lord 
Did  well  accord 
A  stage  for  thee  ! 

Lift  up  thy  head,  O  man, 

And  walk  rejoicing  forth, 
To  sway  with  sweatful  plan 
The  stubborn-breasted  earth. 
Thus  shalt  thou  be 
Liegeman  of  God, 
Treading  earth's  sod 
Erect  and  free  1 


/^OME  unto  me,  who  live  in  cumbrous  splendour, 

'Neath  Fashion's  despot  rule, 
And  to  meek  Wisdom's  kindly  sway  surrender 

Your  hearts  in  Jesus'  school. 

No  pomp  is  here  of  gold  and  purple  flaunting, 

No  banners  proudly  spread, 
No  trumpet's  blare,  no  victor's  cruel  vaunting, 

No  field  bestrewn  with  dead. 

No  high-set  throne  with  glittering  throngs  attendant, 

No  loud  far-sounded  name, 
Sceptre  or  sword,  or  robe  with  gems  resplendent, 

To  blaze  His  peaceful  fame. 

54 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  JESUS.  55 

But  contemplation  chaste  serenely  brooding 

With  clear  unclouded  face, 
High  thought  that  scorns  all  baser  cares  intruding 

Into  God's  holy  place. 

And  mighty  love  embracing  all  things  human 

In  one  all-fathering  name, 
Stamping  God's  seal  on  trivial  things  and  common, 

With  consecrated  aim. 

The  godlike  front,  the  mouth  of  bold  confession, 

The  conquering  glance  of  truth, 
The  hand  that  works  with  the  sure  slow  progression 

Of  unrecorded  growth. 

The  breath  that  blows  with  quickening  vans  victorious 

O'er  realms  of  thought  sublime, 
Making  our  life  a  golden  harvest  glorious, 

Reaped  from  the  fields  of  time. 


56  THE  SCHOOL  OF  JESUS. 

In  vain,  in  vain,  to  rouse  your  languid  leisure, 

Ye  waste  ancestral  stores, 
Starring  with  gold  your  wide-domed  halls  of  pleasure, 

And  treading  pictured  floors. 

In  vain  from  show  to  show  ye  drive  unsated, 

And  sights  of  gay  surprise ; 
The  soul's  high  hunger  rests  all  unabated 

From  gaze  of  wondering  eyes. 

Stir  the  deep  wells  of  life  that  flow  within  you, 

Touched  by  God's  genial  hand, 
And  let  the  chastened  sure  ambition  win  you 

To  serve  His  high  command, 

And  cast  aside  the  costly  cumbrous  splendour 

Of  Fashion's  despot  rule, 
And  to  meek  Wisdom's  kindly  sway  surrender 

Your  hearts  in  Jesus'  school. 


pnuicr  for  Direction. 

ORD  of  might,  and  Lord  of  glory, 
On  my  knees  I  bow  before  Thee, 
With  my  whole  heart  I  adore  Thee, 

Great  Lord  ! 
Listen  to  my  cry,  O  Lord  ! 

Passions  proud  and  fierce  have  ruled  me, 
Fancies  light  and  vain  have  fooled  me, 
But  Thy  training  stern  hath  schooled  me ; 

Now,  Lord, 
Take  me  for  Thy  child,  O  Lord  ! 

07 


58  PR  A  YER  FOR  DIRECTION. 

Groping  dim,  and  bending  lowly, 
Mortal  vision  catch eth  slowly 
Glimpses  of  the  pure  and  holy ; 

Now,  Lord, 
Open  Thou  mine  eyes,  O  Lord ! 


Not  with  lofty  thoughts  far-reaching, 
Not  with  blasts  of  mightful  preaching, 
But  with  heart  that  waits  Thy  teaching, 

Good  Lord, 
Let  me  learn  from  Thee,  O  Lord  ! 


Not  where  dazzling  glories  win  us, 
Not  where  sounding  plaudits  din  us, 
But  Thy  kingdom  is  within  us, 

There,  Lord, 
Let  Thy  truth  teach  me,  O  Lord ! 


PRA  YER  FOR  DIRECTION.  59 

In  the  deed  that  no  man  knoweth, 
Where  no  praiseful  trumpet  bloweth, 
Where  he  may  not  reap  who  soweth, 

There,  Lord, 
Let  my  heart  serve  Thee,  O  Lord  ! 


In  the  work  that  no  gold  payeth, 
Where  he  speedeth  best  who  prayeth, 
Doeth  most  who  little  sayeth, 

There,  Lord, 
Let  me  work  Thy  will,  O  Lord ! 


In  His  name  who,  meek  and  lowly, 
Died  to  make  poor  sinners  holy, 
Stumbling  oft,  and  creeping  slowly, 

Great  Lord, 
Guide  me  by  Thy  truth,  O  Lord  ! 


"Whe  <&6b  of  <&hz 


Aber  die  Cotter  lieben  der  Menschen 
Weitverbreitete  gute  Geschlechter. 


Goethe. 


TF  a  mortal  man  might  sing 
Theme  above  all  mortal  wing ; 
If  the  creatures  of  the  clay 
With  the  name  of  God  might  plaj' ; 
If  the  moulded  breath  might  tell 
All  that  stirs  the  soul's  deep  well, 
I  would  sing  a  song  of  glee, 
Father  of  all  songs,  to  Thee  ! 

Thou  art  not  the  awful  thing, 
Iron  ruler,  despot  king, 
Harsh,  revengeful,  stern,  severe, 
Child  of  terror,  birth  of  fear  : 


THE  GOD  OF  GLEE.  61 

Thou  art  nothing  like  to  Him, 
Ghost  of  sickly  dreamer's  whim  ; 
If  I  sing  a  song  to  Thee, 
It  shall  be  a  song  of  glee. 


Fools  may  rant,  and  fools  may  rave, 
Loudly  damn,  and  loudly  save, 
With  a  solemn  sounding  swell, 
Sweeping  honest  souls  to  hell, 
With  church-blasts  of  mimic  thunder 
Turning  every  over  under; 
Thou  from  wrath  of  man  art  free, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  I 


What  Thou  art  no  tongue  may  say  ; 
I  remember  I  am  clay  j 
Scarcely  knowing  brother  man, 
Shall  I  venture  God  to  scan  ? 


62  THE  GOD  OF  GLEE. 

From  within  and  from  without 
Full  of  dream,  and  full  of  doub 
Feeling  only  lent  from  Thee, 
This  glad  Being,  God  of  glee  ! 


Shall  I  set  Thee  on  a  throne 
Ruling  solemnly  alone '? 
Shall  I  dress  Thee  in  strange  glory  ? 
Grandly  chant  Thy  epic  story  ? 
Shall  I  lodge  Thee  in  the  tomb, 
There  to  lighten  up  my  gloom  1 
Shalt  Thou  sleep  in  death  with  me, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  1 


Shall  mv  wit  be  Thine  inspector  ? 
Shall  my  knife  De  Thy  dissector  ? 
Shall  I  perch  Thee  on  a  steeple, 
To  feed  the  gaze  of  gaping  people  1 


THE  GOD  OF  GLEE.  63 

Shall  I  show  Thee  round  and  round, 
Here  explain,  and  there  expound] 
In  a  cold  creed  prison  Thee, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  ? 


Shalt  Thou  be  my  sworn  director, 
Patroniser,  and  protector] 
Shall  I  stamp  with  Thy  great  seal 
All  I  think,  and  all  I  feel  ? 
Shalt  Thou  be  a  horse  to  ride 
For  the  pranks  of  human  pride  ? 
And  shall  strife  be  born  of  Thee, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  ? 


Shalt  Thou  hug  me  in  Thy  breast, 
Fledgling  of  no  human  nest » 
Shall  I  be  the  one  pet-lamb 
Of  the  terrible  I  am? 


64  THE  GOD  OF  GLEE. 

I  the  called  and  the  elect, 
Thou  Jehovah  of  a  sect  1 
Bastards  all,  save  only  me, 
Thou,  my  Father,  God  of  glee  % 


O  !  it  is  a  hard  assay 
For  the  reach  of  human  clay, 
And  yet  every  fool  will  mount 
Thee  to  number,  Thee  to  count, 
With  a  plummet  and  a  square 
Meting  out  the  pathless  air ; 
Teach  me  how  to  think  of  Thee, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  ! 


If  my  tongue  must  lisp  its  lay, 
I  will  speak  what  best  I  may : 
I  will  say,  Thou  art  a  Soul, 
Weaving  wisely  through  the  whole 


THE  GOD  OF  GLEE.  65 

I  will  say  Thou  art  a  Power 
Working  good  from  hour  to  hour, 
I  will  say  Thou  art  to  me 
Light  and  Life,  and  Love  and  Glee. 


Thou  art  each,  and  Thou  art  all 
In  Creation's  living  Hall, 
Every  breathing  shape  of  beauty, 
Every  solemn  voice  of  duty ! 
Every  high  and  holy  mood, 
All  that 's  great,  and  all  that 's  good, 
All  is  Echo  sent  from  Thee, 
God  of  gladness,  God  of  glee  ! 


|Dato0  oi  Jtatur*. 

'T^HE  fool  hath  in  his  heart  declared, — by  laws 

Since  time  began, 
Blind  and  without  intelligential  cause, 

Or  reasoned  plan, 
All  things  are  ruled.     I  from  this  lore  dissent, 

With  sorrowful  shame 
That  reasoning  men  such  witless  wit  should  vent 

In  reason's  name. 
O  Thou  that  o'er  this  lovely  world  hast  spread 

Thy  jocund  light, 
Weaving  with  flowers  beneath,  and  stars  o'erhead 

This  tissue  bright 
Of  living  powers,  clear  Thou  my  sense,  that  I 

May  ever  find 


LA  U  'S  OF  iVA  TURE.  67 

In  all  the  marshalled  pomp  of  earth  and  sky 

The  marshalling  mind  ! 
Laws  are  not  powers  ;  nor  can  the  well-timed  courses 

Of  earths  and  moons 
Ring  to  the  stroke  of  blind  unthinking  forces 

Their  jarless  tunes. 
Wiser  were  they  who  in  the  flaming  vault 

The  circling  sun 
Beheld,  and  in  his  ray,  with  splendid  fault, 

Worshipped  the  one 
Eye  of  the  universe  that  seeth  all, 

And  shapeth  sight 
In  man  and  moth  through  curious  visual  ball 

With  fine  delight. 
O  blessed  beam,  on  whose  refreshful  might 

Profusely  shed 
Six  times  ten  years,  with  ever  young  delight, 

Mine  eye  hath  fed, 
Still  let  me  love  thee,  and  with  wonder  new, 

By  flood  and  field, 


68  .    LAWS  OF  NATURE. 

Worship  the  fair,  and  consecrate  the  true 

By  thee  revealed ! 
And  loving  thee,  beyond  thee  love  that  first 

Father  of  Lights 
From  whom  the  ray  vivific  marvellous  burst, 

Might  of  all  mights, 
Whose  thought  is  order,  and  whose  will  is  law. 

That  man  is  wise 
Who  worships  God  wide-eyed,  with  cheerful  awe 

And  chaste  surprise. 


<&Uut  is  £a 


5  ' 


TVHAT  thing  is  Nature  ?     Well,  I  don't 

Assume  to  make  a  clatter, 
Like  Hegel,  Hamilton,  and  Comte, 
Concerning  mind  and  matter. 


Yet  I  have  had  my  thoughts  at  times  : 
And,  since  you  ask  the  question, 

I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think  in  rhymes 
That  won't  hurt  your  digestion. 

Nature  is  growth,  a  coming  forth 

Into  new  fashion  e 
Of  that  whose  substance  knows  no  birth, 
jse  virtue  dieth  nc 

CO 


70  WHA  T  IS  NA  TURE  ? 

What  Substance  1 — that  which  to  define 
My  gasping  reason  smothers ; 

But  what  is  best  I  call  divine, 
And  worship  God  with  others. 

You  're  a  materialist  1    Not  at  all ; 

If  I  should  seek  to  find 
The  best  name  for  what  Best  I  call, 

I  'd  rather  call  it  Mind. 

And  Mind  is  one;  and  what  we  call 

The  Many  is  but  one, 
As  million  rays  shoot  from  the  ball 

Of  th'  light-evolving  Sun. 

But  not  to  dogmas  I  incline, 

And  think  me  not  unwise 
Who  fear  and  love,  but  not  define, 

The  Power  that  shapes  the  skies. 


WHAT  IS  NATURE  t  71 

And  you,  Sir  Doctor,  are  a  fool, 

With  logical  appliance, 
That  would  take  God  into  your  school, 

And  teach  Him  terms  of  science  ; 

And  talk  of  Nature,  God,  and  Man 

With  technic  demonstration, 
As  if  yourself  had  sketched  the  plan 

Of  the  boundless,  vast  Creation ; 

And  dress  mean  thoughts  in  phrases  grand, 

And  prove,  with  solemn  clatter, 
That  you  have  got,  in  your  clumsy  hand, 

Two  things  called  Mind  and  Matter. 

Go  to  !     You  know  nor  this,  nor  that  ; 

Man  has  no  measuring  rod 
For  Nature,  Force,  and  Law,  and  what 

The  wisest  men  call  God. 


72  WHA  T  IS  NA  TURE  ? 

For  law,  and  life,  and  all  the  course 
Of  lovely-shifting  Nature, 

Are  but  the  play  of  one  wise  Force, 
Which  Moses  called  Creator. 

Think  on  your  knees  :  'tis  better  so 
Than  without  wings  to  soar ; 

What  blinking  Reason  strains  to  know 
We  find  when  we  adore. 


JUl  things  nrc  full  of  600. 


0  GaX^js  rbv  Kbajxov  (fi\j,vx<n>  vTreaTijaaro  ko1  5ai,u6vwv  ir\-qp7j. 

Diog.  Laert. 


\  LL  things  are  full  of  God.     Thus  spoke 
Wise  Thales  in  the  days 
When  subtle  Greece  to  thought  awoke 

And  soared  in  lofty  ways. 
And  now  what  wisdom  have  we  more  ] 

No  sage  divining-rod 
Hath  taught  than  this  a  deeper  lore, 
All  things  are  full  of  God. 

73 


74  ALL  THINGS  ARE  FULL  OF  GOD. 

II. 

The  Light  that  gloweth  in  the  sky 

And  shimmers  in  the  sea, 
That  quivers  in  the  painted  fly 

And  gems  the  pictured  lea, 
The  mil) ion  hues  of  Heaven  above 

And  Earth  below  are  one, 
And  every  lightful  eye  doth  love 

The  primal  light,  the  Sun. 

III. 

Even  so,  all  vital  virtue  flows 

From  life's  first  fountain,  God  ; 
And  he  who  feels,  and  he  who  knows, 

Doth  feel  and  know  from  God. 
As  fishes  swim  in  briny  sea, 

As  fowl  do  float  in  air, 
From  Thy  embrace  we  cannot  flee ; 

We  breathe,  and  Thou  art  there. 


ALL  THINGS  ARE  LULL  OF  GOD.  7s 

IV.' 

Go,  take  thy  £lass,  astronomer, 

And  all  the  girth  survey 
Of  sphere  harmonious  linked  to  sphere, 

In  endless  bright  array. 
All  that  far-reaching  Science  there 

Can  measure  with  her  rod, 
All  powers,  all  laws,  are  but  the  fair 

Embodied  thoughts  of  God. 

V. 

And  if  there  be  who  of  blind  laws 

And  soulless  forces  talk, 
Who  feed  vain  doubts  with  fancied  flaws, 

With  these  I  will  not  walk. 
But  as  a  child  to  father  clings, 

Or  flower  to  sapful  sod, 
The  living  well  within  me  springs 

Of  all  great  thoughts  from  God. 


76  ALL  THINGS  ARE  FULL  OF  GOD. 

VI. 

O  Thou,  who  didst  the  heart  inspire 

Of  Thales  and  his  peers, 
And  touched  the  prophet-lips  with  fire 

Of  holy  Hebrew  seers, 
Teach  Thou  in  great  and  small  my  will 

To  own  Thy  sovereign  rod, 
Holding  this  faith  firm-rooted  still, 

All  things  are  full  of  God. 


1  TVHV  wilt  thou  pray?  why  storm  with  cries 
His  ear  who  rides  the  thundering  skies, 

And  passes  wrathful  by  ? 
His  laws  stand  firm  ;  He  may  not  hear ; 
Thy  life,  thy  death,  in  His  career 
Are  but  as  steps.     He  will  not  hear 

Though  thou  shalt  loudly  cry.' 

Most  like,  most  like  !  yet  the  soft  tear 
Fresh  dropt  upon  the  senseless  bier 

Hath  virtue — nor  that  small. 
The  sod  why  dost  thou  strew  with  flowers  ] 
The  dead  man  walks  not  in  thy  bowers, 
He  will  not  rise  to  sorrow's  showers, 

Nor  feel  when  soft  flowers  fall ; 

77 


73  PR  A  YER. 


And  yet  thou  weep'st.     Much  more  may'st  thou 
Pay  to  the  living  God  thy  vow, 

And  pour  the  heart-felt  prayer. 
Deft  Logic  is  but  Reason's  tool, 
Reason  a  child  in  Nature's  school ; 
We  may  not  joy  nor  grieve  by  rule, 

Nor  syllogise  a  prayer. 


Sabbath  Jjumn  on  the  fountains. 

P  RAISE  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Not  in  the  temple  of  shapeliest  mould, 
Polished  with  marble  and  gleaming  with  gold. 
Piled  upon  pillars  of  slenderest  grace, 
But  here  in  the  blue  sky's  luminous  face 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  1 

Praise  ye  the  Lord ! 
Xot  where  the  organ's  melodious  wave 
Dies  'neath  the  rafters  that  narrow  the  nave, 
But  here  with  the  free  wind's  wandering  sweep, 
Here  with  the  billow  that  booms  from  the  deep, 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 

79 


80       SABBATH  HYMN  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Not  where  the  pale-faced  multitudes  meet 
In  the  sweltering  lane,  and  the  dun-visaged  street, 
But  here  where  bright  ocean,  thick  sown  with  green 

isles. 
Feeds  the  glad  eye  with  a  harvest  of  smiles, 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Here  where  the  strength  of  the  old  granite  Ben 
Towers  o'er  the  greenswarded  grace  of  the  glen, 
Where  the  birch  flings  its  fragrance  abroad  on  the 

hill, 
And  the  bee  o'er  the  heather-bloom  wanders  at  will, 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Here   where    the    loch,    the   dark    mountain's    fair 

daughter, 
Down  the  red  scaur  flings  the  white-streaming  water, 


SABBA  TH  HYMN  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS.      8 1 

Leaping  and  tossing  and  swirling  for  ever 
Down  to  the  bed  of  the  smooth-rolling  river, 
Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 


Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Not  where  the  voice  of  a  preacher  instructs  you, 
Xot  where  the  hand  of  a  mortal  conducts  you, 
But  where  the  bright  welkin  in  scripture  of  glory 
Blazons  Creation's  miraculous  story, 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 


Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
The  wind  and  the  welkin,  the  sun  and  the  river, 
Weaving  a  tissue  of  wonders  for  ever ; 
The  mead  and  the   mountain,   the  flower  and   the 

tree, 
What  is  their  pomp  but  a  vision  of  Thee, 

Wonderful  Lord  1 

F 


82       SABBATH  HYMN  ON  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  ! 
Not  in  the  square-hewn,  many-tiered  pile, 
Not  in  the  long-drawn,  dim-shadowed  aisle, 
But  where  the  vast  world,  with  age  never  hoary, 
Flashes  His  brightness  and  thunders  His  glory, 

Praise  ye  the  Lord  I 


'T'RIMURTI,  Trimurti, 

Mock  not  the  name  ; 
Think  and  know 

Before  thou  blame ! 

Brother,  believe  me,  I  respect  thy  creed, 
And  in  mine  inmost  shrine  of  reverence  bow 
Before  the  men  of  strong  firm-jointed  thought 
Who  framed,  and  with  their  hearts'  warm  life-blood 

signed 
That  paper — thy  confession  ;  but  to  fling 
Damnation  round  against  all  other  creeds, 
And  plant  myself,  draped  in  most  fine  con 
And  laced  in  Orthodoxy  all  compact, 


84  TRIMURT2. 

A  model  for  all  forms  of  thought  that  be, 

Is  not  my  fashion,  and  should  not  be  yours. 

Thy  sun-tanned  brother  in  the  glowing  East, 

Where  sacred  Ganga  rolls  his  ample  flood, 

Bends  not  the  knee  to  senseless  blocks  and  beasts 

But  to  a  Spirit  :  and  his  huge  gilded  idols 

Are  but  the  clumsier  spelling  of  a  name 

Which  no  man  spells  completely  :  he  believes 

In  his  own  way,  what  you  believe  in  yours. 

Him,  too,  the  power  of  Universal  God 

Hath  touched  :  he,  too,  discerns  the  Soul  that  stirs 

The  heaving  clod  :  the  mystery  of  life 

He  probes  :  and  in  the  battling  din  of  things 

That  frets  the  feeble  ear,  he  seeks  and  finds 

A  harmony  that  tunes  the  dissonant  strife 

To  sweetest  music.     If  in  the  sober  West 

High  thought,  and  awful  power  of  Hebrew  faith 

Hath  taught  thee  much,  and  seemed  to  teach  thee 

more, 
Love  more  thy  brother  from  thy  larger  breast. 


TRIMURTI. 

Trimurti,  Trimurti, 

Despise  not  the  name ; 

Think  and  know 
Before  thou  blame  ! 

Look  upon  the  face  of  Nature 

In  the  flush  of  June  j 
Brahma  is  the  great  Creator, 

Life  is  Brahma's  boon. 
Dost  thou  hear  the  zephyr  blowing  ? 

That  is  Brahma's  breath, 
Vital  breath,  live  virtue  showing 

'Neath  the  ribs  of  death. 
Dost  thou  see  the  fountain  flowing  ? 

That  is  Bramah's  blood, 
Lucid  blood — the  same  is  glowing 

In  the  purpling  bud. 
Brahma's  Eyes  look  forth  divining 

From  the  welkin's  brow, 
Full  bright  eyes — the  same  are  shining 

In  the  sacred  cow. 


86  TRIMURTL 

Air,  and  Fire,  and  running  River, 

And  die  procreant  clod, 
Are  but  faces  changing  ever 

Of  one  changeless  God. 
When  thy  winged  thought  ascendeth 

Where  high  thoughts  are  free, 
This  is  Brahma  when  he  lendeth 

Half  the  God  to  thee. 
Brahma  is  the  great  Creator, 

Life  a  mystic  drama ; 
Heaven,  and  Earth,  and  living  Nature 

Are  but  masks  of  Brahma. 


Trimurti,  Trimurti, 
Mock  not  the  name  \ 

Think  and  know 
Before  thou  blame  ! 

Awful  Siva  dost  thou  know  ? 
Awful  Siva  I  will  show. 


TRIMURTL 

Siva,  Rudra,  Mahadeva, 

One  with  many  :i  shifting  name, 
Bhima,  IV.  r  a,  Pasapati, 

Never  like,  but  still  the  same  ! 
Earth  is  dumb  with  awe  and  wonder, 

When  it  sees  dark  Siva  come  ; 
Nations  pale  to  hear  the  thunder . 

Of  his  fateful-pealing  drum. 
When  he  rides  with  serpents  belted, 

Pearled  with  skulls  about  his  neck, 
Rocks  beneath  his  tread  are  melted, 

Mighty  empires  fall  in  wreck ; 
In  the  flood  and  in  the  flame 
Terrible  is  Siva's  name. 
Dost  thou  see  yon  tiny  boat 

Cradled  in  the  shimmering  ocean  ? 
Summer  clouds  that  lightly  float 

Sail  not  with  a  gentler  motion. 
Canst  thou  hear  the  merry  notes 

From  the  jocund  sailors  pealing, 


88  TRIMURTI, 

Careless  joy  from  clamorous  throats, 

Floods  of  free  ebullient  feeling  % 
Suddenly  there  comes  a  blast ; 

With  short  fits  of  gusty  terror 
Quakes  the  air  :  night  travels  fast ; 

Darkly  glooms  the  briny  horror. 
Where  is  now  that  gamesome  boat  % 

Where  the  crew  with  wild  joy  swelling? 
Seek  them  in  dark  ocean's  throat, 

In  the  mute  sea-monster's  dwelling. 
Mighty  Siva  hath  prevailed  : 

On  the  tempest's  wings  of  madness 
Riding,  harsh  and  iron-mailed, 

He  hath  crushed  all  joy  and  gladness. 
Many  mothers  weep  to-day, 

Many  brides  will  weep  to-morrow, — 
Siva  comes,  and  leaves  his  way 

Washed  with  blood,  and  paved  with  sorrow*; 
Siva  comes  :  his  power  adore  ; 

Wrathful  treads  the  great  Destroyer, 


TRJMURTL  S9 

Death,  his  servant,  walks  before, 

Teeming  Life  is  his  employer. 
Famine,  Fever,  Flood,  and  Flame, 

Murder  and  the  Grave, 
Rule  by  mighty  Siva's  name ; 

None  from  him  can  save. 
Worship  Siva  :  when  he  glares 

With  his  three  red  eyes  of  Ruin, 
When  his  smoking  breath  prepares 

Three-pronged  bolts  for  thy  undoing. 
Bend  the  knee  beneath  his  dart, 

Huts  may  stand,  while  towers  shall  cruml 
Crushing  low  the  proud  in  heart, 

Siva  oft  hath  spared  the  humble. 


Trimurti,  Trimurti, 
Mock  not  the  name ; 

Search  and  know 
Before  thou  blame  ! 


90  TRIMURTI. 

All-pervading,  all-informing, 

Heart  of  heat  within  the  cold, 
Widely-working,  richly- warming, 

Vishnu  loves  to  melt  and  mould. 
Though  Siva  hath  passed  in  the  stormy  blast, 

And,  like  a  crimson  streamer, 
Hath  swept  the  sky,  Vishnu  is  nigh ; 

Earth  looks  for  her  Redeemer. 
Six  months  and  a  day  grim  Winter's  sway 

May  last,  but  not  for  ever ; 
The  grass  shall  grow,  and  the  bud  shall  blow, 

When  Vishnu  unbinds  the  river. 
Long  is  the  sleep  that  nations  sleep ; 

Bleak  centuries  they  lie 
Confounded,  or  convulsive  creep 

In  wriggling  agony. 
But  still  the  hidden  life  they  keep  ; 

Regeneration  lurks ; 
A  heaving  God  shall  stir  the  clod 

Where  mighty  Vishnu  works. 


TRIMURTL  91 

■•hen  they  fed  his  tread, 

Wave  with  leafy  surges, 
Yama  from  their  bony  bed 

His  refleshed  ghosts  disgorges. 

!st  thou  grasp  him?  that  is  hard. 

With  three  giant  paces 
Who  hath  strode  the  blue  girth  barred 

To  worms  in  mortal  cases. 
Wouldst  thou  know  him  ?  that  is  hard  ; 

He  holds'  no  certain  shape  ; 
Soldier,  prophet,  priest,  or  bard, 

Fish,  or  boar,  or  ape, 
All  and  each  are  Vishnu's  faces  ; 

it  the  wise  behind 
Each  rude  mask  discern  the  traces 

Of  the  Saviour- Mind. 
They  shall  know  him  who  believe 

That  through  his  incarnation, 
Faithful  hearts  and  hands  achieve 

The  world's  regeneration. 


92  TRIMURTI. 

They  shall  leave  the  half-burnt  stake, 

And  the  half-ploughed  furrow, 
And  their  portion  they  shall  make 

With  Vishnu's  joy  and  sorrow. 
They  with  him  shall  toil  and  travel, 

For  him  fight  and  bleed  : 
For  Vishnu,  though  Hell's  legions  cavil, 

In  the  end  shall  speed. 
With  an  iron-pointed  will, 

A  steady-glowing  fervour, 
Vanquished,  they  are  victors  still 

Through  Vishnu  the  Preserver. 
Small  as  a  seed  that's  cast  on  Earth 

Vishnu's  power  is  planted, 
Wide  as  ocean's  swelling  girth 

Vishnu's  growth  is  vaunted. 
Like  a  beggar  first  he  shows, 

And  great  and  small  ignore  him ; 
Anon  in  regal  pomp  he  goes, 

And  monarchs  bend  before  him. 


TR1MURTI,  93 

Where  he  comes  each  palsied  heart 

Heats  with  quick  emotion, 
Peoples  into  being  start, 

And  Earth  upheaves  like  Ocean. 
Rags  of  false  fair  Pride  are  torn, 

Truth's  bright  blazon  flutters, 
Tears  are  buried,  hopes  are  born, 

And  power  prophetic  utters 
The  coming  glory.     Heaven  and  Earth 

Pulse  with  impatient  fervour, 
And  reborn  Nature  hymns  her  mirth 

To  Vishnu  the  Preserver  ! 

There  's  my  apology  for  the  poor  Hindoos  : 
Convert  them,  if  you  can,  but  do  not  damn  ; 
Curse  not  the  beggar  when  you  dole  your  doit ; 
Preach,  like  St.  Paul,  in  gentlemanly  wise, 
And  do  not  swear  that  brindled  hides  are  black 
To  make  yourself  look  whiter.     I  believe 
There  is  much  high  and  holy  wisdom  hid 


04  TRIMURTI. 

In  what  you  damn  wholesale  ;  but,  if  you  find 

No  sheep  outside  the  Presbyterian  fold 

(All  else  being  goats),  and  what  I  take  for  gold 

You  deem  base  brass,  till  stamped  in  thine  own  mint, 

I  would  not  strive  with  thee :  God  made  thee  so ; 

My  thoughts  would  not  lodge  sweetly  in  thy  skin. 

Think  in  thy  groove  ;  'tis  safer  footing  so 

For  thee,  and  all  with  thee  who  love  to  live 

Soft-fleshed  within,  the  fond  familiar  shell 

Of  customed  old  tradition  ;  but  refrain 

From  blaming  me  to  my  own  nature  true, 

Who  love  the  broad  free  range  and  shifting  scene, 

And  still  must  strive  beyond  myself  to  gain 

Some  point  of  vantage,  nearer  as  I  deem 

To  God,  and  to  the  wide  far-reaching  scope 

Of  his  rich  varied  plan.     A  little  bird 

Cage-born  and  bred  may  love  to  dwell  secure 

Within  the  wires,  and  wisely  shrink  from  swell 

Of  wavy  winds,  and  vans  of  venture  stirred 

In  unfamiliar  fields  :  fear  saves  the  weak ; 


TRIMURTI. 

But  the  storm-nurtured  freedman  of  the  air 

Will  scorn  to  breathe  where  chains  have  lamed  his 

wing. 
Farewell  !  your  creed  may  nevermore  be  mine; 
I  hold  one  God,,  but  many  forms  divine ; 

r  's  best — sO  be  it  ! — but  I  may  not  bind 
My  heart  to  worship  only  in  one  kind ; 

where  flowers  prink  the  mead  with  diverse  hue 
Let  one  bright  bloom  usurp  my  wondering  view  ; 

they  are  wise  who  love  with  like  regard 
Both  rose  and  lily,  where  to  choose  is  hard. 
Leave  me,  dear  friend,  the  luxury  of  my  error. 
To  think  that  creeds  are  but  a  broken  mirror, 

.  thousand  Suns  for  one  that  lights  the  skies, 
And  one  truth  imaged  in  a  thousand  lies  ! 


<Saii.de  Narrates,  era  pn>  JJ0H0 ! 

T^vEAR  God,  by  wrathful  routs 
How  is  thy  Church  divided, 
And  how  may  he  that  doubts 

In  such  turmoil  be  guided  ! 
When  weeping  I  behold 

How  Christian  people  quarrel, 
Ofttimes  from  Heathens  old 

I  fetch  a  saintly  moral ; 
And  while  they  fret  with  rage 

The  sore-distraught  community, 
I  look  for  some  Greek  sage 

Who  preaches  peace  and  unity. 
And  thus  I  pray  : 


SANCTE  SOCRATES,  OR  A  PRO  NOBIS  I        97 

0  Sonde  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis  I 

Let  faith  and  love  and  joy  increase. 
And  reason  rule  and  wrangling  cease, 
Good  saint,  we  pray  thee ! 

They  pile  a  priestly  fence 

Of  vain  scholastic  babble, 
To  keep  out  common  sense 

With  the  unlearned  rabble. 
A  curious  creed  they  weave, 

And,  for  the  Church  commands  it, 
All  men  must  needs  believe, 

Though  no  man  understands  it ; 
Thus,  while  they  rudely  ban 

All  honest  thought  as  treason, 

1  from  the  Heathen  clan 
Seek  solace  to  my  reason, 

And  thus  I  pray : 
O  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  fiobL  . 
From  creeds  that  men  believe  because 

G 


98        SANCTE  SOCRA  TES,   ORA  PRO  NOBIS  ! 

They  fear  a  damnatory  clause, 
Good  saint,  deliver  us  ! 

Some  preach  a  God  so  grim 

That,  when  his  anger  swelleth, 
They  crouch  and  cower  to  him 

When  sacred  fear  compelleth ; 
God  loves  his  few  pet  lambs, 

And  saves  his  one  pet  nation, 
The  rest  he  largely  damns 

With  swinging  reprobation. 
Thus  banished  from  the  fold, 

I  wisely  choose  to  follow 
Some  sunny  preacher  old 

Who  worshipped  bright  Apollo  ; 
And  thus  I  pray : 
O  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis  / 

From  silly  flocks  of  petted  lambs, 

And  from  a  faith  that  largely  damns, 
Good  saint,  deliver  us ! 


SANCTE  SOCRATES,  OR  A  PRO  NOBIS  I        99 

And  some  do  strongly  strive 

By  light  of  noonday  taper, 
The  guilty  soul  to  shrive 

With  many  a  gest  and  caper  j 
With  candlestick  and  bells, 

With  postures  and  grimaces, 
With  wealth  of  holy  spells, 

And  lack  of  lovely  graces ; 
And  when  I  see  increase 

These  feats  of  antic  duty, 
I  turn  me  back  to  Greece 

Where  truth  was  wed  to  beauty, 
And  thus  I  pray  : 
O  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis  ! 

From  quaint  religion  tricked  in  laces, 

From  genuflexions  and  grimaces* 
Good  saint,  deliver  us  ! 

And  some  there  be  that  say, 

That  through  their  veins  a  virtue 


ioo      SANCTE  SOCRATES,   OR  A  PRO  NOBIS! 

Doth  run  to  charm  away 

All  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to ; 
And  from  their  finger-tips 

A  sacred  tremor  passes, 
To  ope  the  braying  lips 

Of  Apostolic  asses ; 
From  ferment  I  abstain 

Of  such  high-churchly  preachers, 
And  keep  myself  quite  sane 

By  sober  Attic  teachers  ! 

And  thus  I  pray  : 
O  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis  ! 

From  men  that  say  wide  earth  contains 

No  truth  but  creeps-  through  priestly  veins, 
Good  saint,  deliver  us  ! 

Such  eager  fancies  vain 

Shape  forth  the  rival  Churches  ; 

And  each  man's  fuming  brain 
God's  holy  light  besmirches ; 


SAXCTE  SOCRATES,  OR  A  PRO  NOBIS!      101 

And  thus  they  all  conspire 

The  primal  truth  to  smother, 
And  think  they  praise  their  Sire 

By  hating  well  their  brother. 
Such  wrangling  when  I  see 

Such  storms  of  godly  rancour, 
To  Heathendom  I  flee 

To  cast  a  peaceful  anchor, 
And  thus  I  pray  : 
O  Sancte  Socrates,  ora  pro  nobis  ! 

Let  love  and  faith  and  joy  increase, 

And  reason  rule  and  wrangling  cease, 
Good  saint,  we  pray  thee ! 


oElw  Dope  oi  the  Jjetembxrx. 

TN  Thee,  O  blessed  God,  I  hope, 

In  Thee,  in  Thee,  in  Thee  ! 
Though  banned  by  Presbyter  and  Pope, 

My  trust  is  still  in  Thee. 
Thou  wilt  not  cast  Thy  servant  out 

Because  he  chanced  to  see 
With  his  own  eyes,  and  dared  to  doubt 
What  praters  preach  of  Thee. 
O  no  !  no  !  no  ! 
For  ever  and  ever,  and  aye 
(Though  Pope  and  Presbyter  bray), 
Thou  wilt  not  cast  away 
An  honest  soul  from  Thee. 

102 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  HETEROi 

I  look  around  on  earth  and  sky, 

And  Thee,  and  ever  Thee, 
With  open  heart  and  open  eye 

How  can  I  fail  to  see  ? 
My  ear  drinks  in  from  field  and  fell 

Life's  rival  floods  office  : 
Where  finds  the  priest  his  private  hell 
When  all  is  full  of  Thee  ? 
()  no  !  no  !  no  ! 
Though  flocks  of  sacred  geese 
Give  Heaven's  hiprh  e^r  no  Deace. 
I  still  enjoy  a  lease 

Of  happy  thoughts  from  Thee. 


My  faith  is  strong  ;  out  of  itself 
It  grows  erect  and  free  ; 

No  Talmud  on  the  Rabbi's  shelf 
Gives  amulets  to  me. 


104  THE  HOPE  OF  THE  HETERODOX. 

Small  Greek  I  know,  nor  Hebrew  much, 

'  But  this  I  plainly  see. 
Two  legs  without  the  Bishop's  crutch 
God  gave  to  thee  and  me. 
O  no  !  no  !  no  ! 
The  Church  may  loose  and  bind, 
But  Mind,  immortal  Mind, 
As  free  as  wave  or  wind 

Came  forth,  O  God,  from  Thee. 


O  pious  quack  !  thy  pills  are  good, 

But  mine  as  good  may  be, 
And  healthy  men  on  healthv  food 

Live  without  you  or  me. 
Good  lady  !  let  the  doer  do  ! 

Thought  is  a  busy  bee, 
Nor  honey  less  what  it  doth  brew, 

Though  very  gall  to  thee. 
O  no  !  no  !  no  ! 


THE  HOPE  OF  THE  HETERODOX.  105 

Though  Councils  decree  and  declare, 
Like  a  tree  in  open  air 
The  soul  its  foliage  fair 

Spreads  forth,  O  God,  to  Thee  ! 


©  ^eat  mg  $raner! 

/^V  HEAR  my  prayer, 

If  I  may  dare 
To  talk  with  Thee,  Great  Spirit, 

Of  mortal  mould, 

To  frailty  sold, 
Who  dust  and  death  inherit  I 

What  thing  am  I 

To  soar  so  high, 
Such  proud  conceits  to  cherish  %- 

An  insect  born 

With  dewy  morn, 
With  dewy  eve  to  perish. 


106 


O  I  IE  A  R  M  \ '  PR  A  \  rER !  107 

Yet  am  I  not 

By  Thee  forgot, 
Thou  knowest  not  forgetting  ; 

The  perfect  All 

Nor  great  nor  small 
Nor  rising  knows  nor  setting. 

One  ocean  rolls 

Whose  waves  are  souls, 
With  radiant-shifting  features ; 

That  ocean  Thou, 

Eternal  now, 
The  shifting  waves  Thy  creatures. 

When  Thou  art  nigh 

We  live  ;  we  die 
From  Thy  sustainment  sundered  ; 

Even  as  the  spark 

Goes  out  in  dark 
That  from  its  flame  hath  wandered. 


io8  O  HEAR  MY  PR  A  YER  ! 

Therefore  no  harm 
That  winged  worm 

Should  lofty  fancies  cherish ; 
Or  great  or  small, 
On  Him  hangs  all, 

Who  lives  and  cannot  perish. 

And  I  will  dare 
To  lift  my  prayer 

With  trust  in  Thee,  Great  Spirit, 
By  whose  high  might 
Day  springs  from  Night 

-,And  Death  doth  life  inherit. 


T^HE  Sabbath-day,  the  Sabbath-day, 

How  softly  shines  the  morn  ! 
How  gently  from  the  heathery  brae 

The  fresh  hill-breeze  is  borne  ! 
Sweetly  the  village  bell  doth  toll, 

And  thus  it  seems  to  say, 
Come  rest  thee,  rest  thee,  weary  soul, 

On  God's  dear  Sabbath-day  ! 

Swift  as  the  shifting  pictures  flit 

Unscanned,  unnoticed  by, 
To  those  who  in  the  steam-car  sit 

And  pass  with  rapid  eye ; 


109 


THE  SABBA  TH-DA  Y. 

So  flits  our  life  with  sweeping  haste, 
And  hath  no  power  to  stay ; 

But  God  makes  man  His  favoured  guest 
On  each  dear  Sabbath-day  : 

And  to  high  converse  doth  invite 

The  soul  with  tranquil  eye 
That  numbers  well,  and  marks  aright 

The  moments  as  they  fly ; 
The  soul  that  will  not  lawless  roam, 

Nor  with  blind  hurry  stray, 
But  with  itself  would  be  at  home 

On  a  peaceful  Sabbath-day. 

There  are  who  live  as  in  a  fair, 
The  light,  the  shallow-hearted, 

Nor  ask  or  whither  bound,  or  where 
They  stand,  or  whence  they  started ; 

Aimless  they  live,  and  thoughtless  fling 
Their  rattling  lives  away, 


THE  SABBATH-DAY. 

Nor  know  to  poise  the  brooding  wing 

On  a  sober  Sabbath-day. 

Such  judge  I  not.     But  me  not  so 
God  made  for  light-winged  prattle: 

A  soldier  I,  and  I  must  know 
ore  I  fight,  my  battle. 

I  with  the  jingling  bells  an  hour 
Would  sport,  then  steal  away, 

To  feel  with  truth,  and  plan  with  power, 
On  a  thoughtful  Sabbath-day. 

Stern  Scottish  people,  ye  redeem 

Each  seventh  day  .severely  : 
Sober  and  grave,  with  scarce  a  gleam 

Of  frolic  tempered  cheerly. 
Light  wits  deride  your  thoughtful  law, 

The  tinkling  and  the  gay  j 
But  wisely  from  deep  founts  ye  draw 

Calm  strength  on  the  Sabbath-day. 


U2  THE  SABBATH-DAY. 

And  safely,  if  I  err,  I  err, 

Who  on  this  day  with  you 
The  hot-spurred  bustle  and  the  stir 

Of  dinsome  life  eschew  ; 
Happy,  if  through  the  frequent  dark 

Of  man's  tumultuous  way, 
God  in  my  soul  shall  light  a  spark 

On  His  dear  Sabbath-day. 


Jiu I  Hon  i£r£en. 

TTERE,  on  this  height,  where  pastoral  Pentland 
falls, 

With  easy  slope,  into  the  Lothian  plain, 
Where  silence  fills  the  azure-vaulted  halls, 

And  solitude's  serenest  soul  doth  reign  ; 
Where  scarce  the  pewit's  shrill  far-plaining  cry 

Disturbs  the  quiet  sleep  o'  the  hill  breeze, 
And  the  bare  brae  seems  clad,  in  mockery, 

With  one  thin  belt  of  lean  and  scurvy  trees; 
Here  let  me  pause :  Here  mighty  deeds  were  done 
By  Scotland's  sires ;  and  I  am  Scotland's  son. 

Say  not  that  they  were  harsh,  and  stern,  and  sour, 
Or  say  they  were  so,  but  not  therefore  base ; 
u 


U4  RULLION  GREEN. 

In  iron  times  God  sends,  with  mighty  power, 
Iron  apostles  to  make  smooth  His  ways  ; 

And  hearts  of  rock,  close-clamped  with  many  a  bar, 
He  plants  where  anprv  billows  lach  the  shore; 

Thus  love  by  fear,  thus  peace  is  pledged  by  war, 
(Stern  law !)  and  gospel  paths  are  paved  in  eore  : 

We  reap  in  ease  what  they  did  sow  in  toil. 

And  rate  them  harsh,  and  stern,  and  sour  the  while. 


I  blame  them  that  they  were  not  stern  enough, 

Too  tamely  bore,  and  waited  overlong. 
They  should  have  checked,  with  sharp  severe  rebuff, 

In  the  first  threshold  of  his  impious  wrong, 
The  pedant-king,  whose  rash  conceit  did  ween 

With  statute-work  to  stop  the  strong  full  heart 
God-moved.     He  fell ;  and  in  his  fall  was  seen 

Man  less  than  God,  and  nature  more  than  art ; 
Old  text,  which  many  wars  have  preached,  and  more 
Shall  write  in  blood,  ere  folly's  reign  be  o'er. 


RULLION  GRE1  II 

Here,  on  this  slope,  the  Covenanting  men 

Stood,  lifting  holy  hearts  and  holy  hands  ; 
And  from  the  hill  they  looked,  with  eager  ken. 

To  catch  the  nearing  of  their  brother'd  bands. 
From  Teviot's  banks,  from  high  Dunedin's  brow, 

Some  aid  was  promised,  and  they  hoped  for  more 
But  ah  ;  it  was  too  bold  a  venture  now, 

And  hands  were  weak,  where  tongues  were  strong 
before  : 
Dunedin  closed  her  ports ;  and  from  the  west 
Hung  grim  Dalziel,  avoidless  as  the  pest. 


Bat  fear  they  knew  not.     With  an  holy  bond 

In  Clydesdale  they  had  bound  them  to  their  God  ; 

Nor  do  their  hearts  in  danger's  hour  despond, 

They  bear  Heaven's  mandate,  and  they  own  its 
nod. 

Beneath  the  cold  and  clear  November  noon, 
Their  hearts  beat  high  upon  the  lonely  hill ; 


1 1 6  E  ULLION  GREEN'. 

Souls  mild  and  kindly  as  the  leafy  June, 

Stood  cased  in  stern  resolve,  and  dauntless  will ; 
And,  when  soft  pity  melts  the  mood  severe, 
There  God  doth  paint  a  rainbow  in  each  tear. 

Hark,  from  the  hill  ascends  the  solemn  chant ! 

And  hark  again  the  startling  war-cry  rings  ! 
A  mud-splashed  rider  comes  with  breathless  pant — 

1  Tis  he,  the  grim  Dalziel,  and  death  he  brings 
Or  to  himself,  or  you  !' — Straightway  were  heard 

The  hungry  hell-hounds  through  the  stony  dell 
Hurrying.     Their  swords  the  godly  warriors  gird, 

With  godly  benediction  bless  them  well ; 
Then  rush  to  the  fray.     The  hostile  horse  they  beat 
Back  to  the  glen,  with  swift  severe  retreat. 

And  yet  again  the  clattering  onset  came; 

And  yet  again  they  drave  it  back  in  blood ; 
But  grim  Dalziel,  now  burning  with  fierce  flame, 

Gathered  his  serried  hundreds.     Like  a  flood, 


RULLION  GREEN.  1 1 7 

He  rolled,  and  swept  the  rankless  tens  away, 

Whose  valour  now  was  bootless.     They  so  few 
Had  boldly  hoped  to  keep  a  host  at  bay  j 
Nor  vainly — had  their  plighted  friends  been  true. 
Not  lack  of  heart,  but  lack  of  ordered  skill, 
And  lack  of  needful  aidance  wrought  their  ill. 


Rude  warriors,  rest !  God  from  that  ill  wrought  good ; 

Your  strong   endurance   wrought   strong  hate  of 
wrong, 
Let  dark  Dunnottar's  dungeon-solitude, 

And  the  strong  Bass,  attest  your  sufferings  long ; 
No  polished  pen,  no  smooth  and  courtly  verse, 

Ye  need  to  prove  the  virtue  of  your  crime ; 
Pentland's  green  slopes,  and  the  bleak  moors  o'  the 
Merse, 

Shall  be  your  record  to  remotest  time  j 
Ourselves,  your  sons,  inheriting  your  stuff, 
While  we  are  worthy,  shall  be  praise  enough  ; 


H8  RULLION  GREEN. 

As  ye  were  worthy  of  the  royal  man 

Whose  battle-axe  the  English  epicure 
Clove  with  a  stroke,  when  the  first  fray  began 

At  glorious  Bannockburn  !     The  purple  moor, 
While  'tis  our  home,  the  high  hills  granite-bound, 

Shall  brace  our  hearts,  and  make  us  valiant  men ; 
From  every  crag  a  hero's  tale  shall  sound, 

A  holy  warning  echo  from  each  glen. 
Shall  slaves  be  dull  where  Wallace'  blade  was  keen  1 
Shall  sleeve  and  surplice  -flaunt  o'er  Rullion  Green  'i 


Needs  not  this  rhyme  to  tell  their  pious  roll, 

Who  slept  in  caves,  and  on  bleak  hills  did  preach ; 
Guthrie,  M'Kail,  strong  hearts  that  scorned  control, 

The  soldier  Wallace,  many-wandering  Veitch. 
These  sure  did  share  His  brotherhood  sincere, 

The  Christ,  who  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head  : 
He  died  for  all ;  for  some  who  haply  jeer 

They  in  this  clay  did  make  their  gory  bed  ; 


RCI.L TON  GR EEN.  no 

Men  rude  and  wild,  rough,  shaggy,  and  uncouth, 
But  true  and  honest,  and  who  died  for  truth. 

Thou,  Scotland's  son,  that  wouldst  be  leal  and  true, 
This  storied  stone,  not  dry  and  tearless  scan  : 

Bleed  for  their  wounds  who  freely  bled  for  you, 
And  know  how  good,  how  great  a  thing  is  man. 

0  these  did  boast  no  brightly  barren  deed  ! 
One  death  for  freedom  makes  a  million  free  ; 

And  who  achieves  a  self-dependent  creed, 

Has  gained  Mind's  first  and  last  great  victory; 
Gains  more  than  hero's,  more  than  bard's  renown — 

1  God's    saints    died     here,     and     gained     the 

martyr's  crown.' 


%x\xz&  torttten  at  Jtlagus  Jftuir. 

T    AMENT  who  will  the  surplice  rent, 

And  mitre  trampled  low, 
J  cannot  think  the  blow  mis-spent, 
That  felled  our  priestly  foe. 

Who  sent  him  here  ? — a  perjured  king. 

His  work  1 — with  churchman's  art 
To  bind  young  Freedom's  mounting  wing, 

And  crush  a  people's  heart. 

Ill-omened  priest !  for  courtly  place 
Well  made,  and  cold  propriety  ; 

But  here  thou  found'st  a  fervid  race, 
Whose  sternly-glowing  piety 


120 


LINES  WRITTEN  AT  MAGUS  MUIR. 

Scorned  paper  laws.     Their  free-bred  soul 
Went  not  with  priests  to  school, 

To  trim  the  tippet  and  the  stole, 
And  pray  by  printed  rule  ; 

But  they  would  cast  the  eager  word, 

From  their  heart's  fiery  core, 
Smoking  and  red,  as  God  had  stirred 

The  Hebrew  men  of  yore. 

And  thou  didst  come,  a  cassocked  slave, 

With  windy  proclamation, 
Parchment,  and  ink,  and  wax,  to  brave 

The  spirit  of  a  nation  j 

And  with  rash  plume  didst  brush  the  flame, 
And  wert  consumed,  poor  fly  ! — 

So  perish  all,  who  join  the  name 
Of  Christ,  with  tyranny  ! 


122         LINES  WRITTEN  AT  MAGUS  MUIR. 

Prate  not  of  law  and  lawyer's  art ! 

When  kingly  sin  is  rife, 
The  law  is  in  a  people's  heart, 

That  whets  the  needful  knife. 

0  Scotland  !  O  my  country  !  thou 
Through  blood  hast  waded  well ; 

From  glorious  BannoCkburn  till  now, 
The  tyrant  hears  his  knell 

Rung  from  thy  iron  heart.     And  we, 
In  lone  rock-girdled  glen, 

Or  purple  heath,  erect  and  free, 
From  harsh  knife-bearing  men 

Inherit  peace.     Lament  who  will 
The  mitre  trampled  low ; 

Not  all  are  murderers  who  kill, 
The  cause  commends  the  blow. 


iftartin  ILuther. 

1^7  HO  sits  upon  the  Pontiff's  throne  I 

On  Peter's  holy  chair 
Who  sways  the  keys  1     At  such  a  time 
When  dullest  ears  may  hear  the  chime 
Of  coming  thunders — when  dark  skies 
Are  writ  with  crimson  prophecies, 

A  wise  man  should  be  there ; 
A  godly  man,  whose  life  might  be 
The  living  logic  of  the  see ; 
One  quick  to  know,  and  keen  to  feel, 
A  fervid  man,  and  full  of  zeal, 

Should  sit  in  Peter's  chair. 


1 24  MARTIN  L UTHER. 

Alas  !  no  fervid  man  is  there, 


No  earnest,  honest  heart ; 
But  one  who,  dress'd  in  priestly  guise, 
Looks  on  the  world  with  worldling's  eyes ; 
One  who  can  trim  the  courtier's  smile, 
Or  weave  the  diplomatic  wile, 

But  knows  no  deeper  art ; 
One  who  can  dally  with  fair  forms, 
Whom  a  well-pointed  period  warms — 
No  man  is  he  to  hold  the  helm 
Where  rude  winds  blow,  and  wild  waves  whelm, 

And  creaking  timbers  start. 

In  vain  did  Julius  pile  sublime 

The  vast  and  various  dome, 
That  makes  the  kingly  pyramids'  pride, 
And  the  huge  Flavian  wonder  hide 
Their  heads  in  shame — these  gilded  stones 
(O  heaven  !)  were  very  blood  and  bones 

Of  souls  whom  Christ  did  come 


MAR  TIN  L  UTHKR.  1 2  5 

To  save — vile  gain  of  knaves  who  sold 
Celestial  rights  for  earthy  gold, 
Marketing  grace  with  merchant's  measure, 
To  prank  with  Europe's  pillaged  treasure 
The  pride  of  purple  Rome  ! 

The  measure  01  ner  sins  is  full, 

The  scarlet-vested  whore  I 
Thy  murderous  and  lecherous  race 
Have  sat  too  long  i'  the  holy  place  ; 
The  knife  shall  lop  what  no  drug  cures  ; 
Nor  Heaven  permits,  nor  earth  endures, 

The  monstrous  mockery  more. 
Behold  !  I  swear  it,  saith  the  Lord  : 
Mine  elect  warrior  girds  the  sword  ; 
A  nameless  man,  a  miner's  son, 
Shall  tame  thy  pride,  thou  haughty  one, 

And  pale  the  painted  whore  I 

Earth's  mighty  men  are  naught.     I  chose 
Poor  fishermen  before, 


126  MAR  TIN  L  UTHER. 

To  preach  my  gospel  to  the  poor ; 

A  pauper  boy  from  door  to  door 

That  trolled  his  hymn — by  his  strong  word 

The  priest-bound  world  shall  now  be  stirred, 

As  with  a  lion's  roar  ! 
A  lonely  monk  that  loved  to  dwell 
With  peaceful  book  in  silent  cell ; 
This  man  shall  shake  the  Pontiff's  throne  : 
Him  kings  and  emperors  shall  own, 

And  stout  hearts  wince  before 

The  eye  profound  and  lordly  front 

Where  speculation  reigns. 
He  to  the  learned  seats  shall  climb, 
On  Science'  watch-tower  stand  sublime  ; 
The  arid  doctrine  shall  inspire 
Of  wiry  teachers  with  swift  fire  ; 

And,  piled  with  cumbrous  pains 
Proud  palaces  of  sounding  lies 
Lay  prostrate  with  a  breath.     The  wise 


MARTIN  LUTHER,  127 

Shall  listen  to  his  word  ;  the  youth 
Shall  eager  seize  the  new-born  truth, 
Where  prudent  age  refrains. 

Lo  !  where  the  venal  pomp  proceeds 

From  echoing  town  to  town  ! 
The  clamorous  preacher  and  his  train, 
Organ  and  bell  with  sound  inane, 
The  crimson  cross,  the  book,  the  keys, 
The  flag  that  spreads  before  the  breeze, 

The  triple-belted  crown  ! 
It  wends  its  way ;  and  straw  is  sold, 
Yea  :  deadly  drugs  for  heavy  gold, 
To  feeble  hearts  whose  pulse  is  fear ; 
And  though  some  smile,  and  many  sneer, 

There  s  none  will  dare  to  frown. 

None  dares  but  one — the  race  is  rare — 

One  free  and  honest  man  : 
Truth  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  say 


[28  MAR  TIN  L  UTHER. 

When  high-throned  falsehoods  rule  the  day ; 
But  He  hath  lent  it  voice ;  and,  lo  I 
From  heart  to  heart  the  fire  shall  go, 

And  fuse  with  plastic  plan. 
Proud  bishops  with  a  lordly  train, 
Fierce  cardinals  with  high  disdain, 
Sleek  chamberlains  with  smooth  discourse, 
And  wrangling  doctors,  all  shall  force 

In  vain,  one  honest  man. 

In  vain  the  foolish  Pope  shall  fret ; 

It  is  a  sober  thing, 
Thou  high-blown  trifler  !  cease  to  rave, 
Loudly  to  damn,  and  loudly  save, 
Sweeping  with  mimic  thunders'  swell 
Armies  of  honest  souls  to  hell ! 

The  time  on  rushing  wing 
Hath  fled  when  this  prevailed.     O,  Heaven  ! 
One  hour,  one  little  hour,  is  given, 
If  thou  couldst  but  repent.     But  no  ! 


MARTIN  LUTHER.  129 

To  ruin  thou  shalt  headlong  go, 
A  doomed  and  blasted  thing. 

Thy  parchment  ban  comes  forth  ;  and  lo  : 

Men  heed  it  not,  thou  fool  ! 
See,  from  the  learned  city's  gate, 
In  solemn  show,  in  pomp  of  state, 
The  watchmen  of  the  truth  come  forth, 
The  burghers  old  of  sterling  worth, 

And  students  of  the  school : 
And  he  who  should  have  felt  thy  ban, 
Walks  like  a  prophet  in  the  van  ; 
He  hath  a  calm  untroubled  look, 
Beneath  his  arm  he  bears  a  book. 

And  in  his  hand  the  Bull. 

He  halts  j  and  in  the  middle  space 

Bids  pile  a  blazing  fire. 
The  flame  ascends  with  crackling  glee  ; 
Then,  with  firm  step  advancing,  he 
1  ♦ 


1 30  MAR  TIN  L  UTHER. 

Gives  to  the  wild  fire's  wasting  rule 
The  false  Decretals,  and  the  Bull, 

While  thus  he  vents  his  ire  : — 
4  Because  the  Holy  One  o'  the  Lord 
Thou  vexed  hast  with  impious  word, 
Therefore  the  Lord  shall  thee  consume, 
And  thou  shalt  share  the  Devil's  doom 

In  everlasting  fire  !' 

He  said ;  and  rose  the  echo  round 

1  In  everlasting  fire  !' 
The  hearts  of  men  were  free  ;  one  word 
Their  inner  depths  of  soul  had  stirred  ; 
Erect  before  their  God  they  stood 
A  truth-snod  Christian  brotherhood, 

And  winged  with  high  desire. 
And  ever  with  the  circling  flame 
Uprose  anew  the  blithe  acclaim  : — 
1  The  righteous  Lord  shall  thee  consume, 
And  thou  shalt  share  the  Devil's  doom 

Irt  everlasting  fire  !' 


MA  R  TIN  L  UTHER.  131 

Thus  the  brave  German  men.     And  we 

Shall  echo  back  the  cry. 
The  burning  of  that  parchment  scroll 
Annulled  the  bond  that  thralled  the  soul 
Of  man  to  man  ;  each  brother  now- 
Only  to  one  great  Lord  will  bow, 

One  Father-God  on  high. 
And  though  with  fits  of  lingering  life 
The  wounded  foe  prolong  the  strife, 
On  Luther's  deed  we  build  our  hope, 
Having  this  seal — the  fond  old  Pope 

Is  dying,  and  shall  die. 


Patrkk  ggamiltmt. 

TN  St.  Andrew's  grey-towered  city 
Once  was  done  a  deed  unholy, 
When  the  harsh  and  haughty  churchman 

Crushed  the  martyr  meek  and  lowly. 
Young  was  he,  and  gentle-thoughted, 

Blood  of  kings  flowed  in  his  veins ; 
But  with  manly  mild  endurance 

Stout  he  bore  the  fiery  pains. 
And  he  gave  his  life  a  priceless 

Ransom,  to  make  Scotland  free, 
By  the  faith  which  scorns  the  fagot, 

Bloody  priest  of  Rome,  from  thee. 
Hoar  St.  Andrews,  thou  didst  witness, 

When  the  dark-stoled  priestly  crew 


132 


PA  TRICK  HA  MIL  TOX.  1 33 

Came  swift  trooping,  where  the  trumpet 

Of  the  far-feared  Beaton  blew. 
Thou  didst  see  the  mitred  council 

Sit,  and,  with  a  ghastly  prayer, 
Pray  the  God  who  loves  his  creatures 

To  make  foulest  murder  fair 
With  holy  names ;  and  thou  didst  hear  it 

When,  instead  of  reasons  true, 
Age  gave  grace  to  doting  dogma, 

Truth  was  damned  because 'twas  new. 
And  for  burning  words  heart-kindling, 

Soulless  creeds  were  grimly  read 
From  books,  that  with  a  monstrous  learning 

Slaved  the  living  to  the  dead. 
They  with  sounding  pomp  disputed, 

Meekly  he,  and  calmly  wise  ; 
They  with  curious  deft  manoeuvre, 

He  with  short  plain  text  replies. 
Forth  then  went  that  calm  refuter, 

While  they  muttered  spiteful  wrath, 


134  PA  TRICK  HAMIL  TON. 

And  the  mob,  with  senseless  clamour, 

Hooted  round  his  guiltless  path. 
To  the  place  of  doom  they  led  him, 

In  his  hand  the  holiest  book ; 
Bright  the  noon-day  sun  was  shining, 

Brighter  shone  the  martyr's  look. 
To  the  bloody  stake  they  bound  him 

With  strong  bonds,  who  needed  none ; 
Freely  to  the  fiery  torture 

Marched  the  noble  Hamilton. 
Blessings  for  their  hateful  curses 

He  returned ;  his  voice  implored 
Pardon  to  his  stone-eyed  murderers, 

While  the  blazing  billet  roared. 
God  was  with  him  in  his  anguish, 

Jesus  gave  him  strength  divine  ; 
He,  like  Stephen,  saw  the  glory 

Through  the  wreathed  darkness  shine. 
And  a  glorious  light  behind  him 

Shone — and  shines — whose  death  made  free 


PA  TRICK  HAMIL  TON.  135 

Scotland,  spite  of  fire  and  fagot, 
Bloody  priest  of  Rome,  from  thee  ! 

And  the  towers  of  grey  St.  Andrews, 
By  the  roaring  German  wave, 

While  we  name  his  name-  shall  teach  us 
To  be  gentle,  true,  and  brave. 


mmttx  Jflpln. 


Non  nostra  impietas,  aut  acta  crimina  vita 

Armarunt  kostes  in  meafata  truces. 
Sola  fides  Christi,  sacris  signata  libellis, 
Qua  vita  causa  est,  est  mihi  causa  necis. 

Epitaph  on  Myln  by  Patrick  Adamson, 
Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews. 


/^VNE  breezy  day,  when  all  the  sea  was  white 
With  hoary  crests,  that  rose  upon  the  brine, 
Like  ruffled  plumes  upon  a  fretted  bird, 
Behind  St.  Andrews  old  grey  towers  I  stood, 
And  paced  with  pensive  foot  the  high-raised  walk, 
Which  northward  looks  across  the  bay,  to  where 
The  far  red  headland,  eastward  stretching,  flouts 
The  keen  dry  blast.     As  I  was  musing  there 

136 


WALTER  MYLX.  137 

Of  ancient  times  and  new,  bishops  and  priests, 
Martyrs  and  saints,  and  sage  philosophers, 
And  bright-eyed  dames,  who  shine  in  learning's  halls, 
Like  gay  birds  flitting  through  a  dusky  grove ; 
There  comes  before  my  path  a  little  man, 
Smooth  and  close-shaven,  very  trig  and  smug, 
And  well-appointed,  not  a  speck  of  dust 
On  all  his  long  black  coat,  which  down  beneath 
His  slender  hams,  near  to  his  ankle  fell ; 
A  snow-white  neckcloth  with  a  dainty  tie 
Embraced  his  neck,  whose  skin  was  fair  and  fine 
As  any  damsel's  : — with  a  simpering  lisp 
He  spake,  and  asked  me — Pray,  Sir,  can  you  tell 
What  man  was  Walter  Myln  I     I,  like  a  Scot, 
Replied — Why  ask  you  that  ]     I  read,  quoth  he, 
That  name  upon  the  obelisk,  which  stands 
High-perched  above  the  benty  golfing  ground, 
And,  being  here  a  stranger,  fain  would  know 
What  names  you  honour  in  this  Northern  land  ; 
Our  saints  in  Oxford  have  a  larger  fame, 


138  WALTER  MYLN. 

And  sound  through  time,  their  own  interpreter. 

0  yes  !  I  said,  you  Southern  Square-caps  know 
As  much  of  Scotland,  as  a  fly  that 's  bred 

In  a  grocer's  sugar-cask  may  comprehend 

Of  honeyed  heather  and  of  mountain  bees. 

Our  glens,  you  deem,  are  pleasant  hunting-ground 

For  London  brewers  and  ducal  debauchees, 

And  our  fair  lochs  and  mountains  a  rare  show 

To  salve  blear  eyes,  sick  with  a  six  months'  view 

Of  peevish  faces  in  a  hot  saloon  ! 

But,  since  your  question  hints  some  stray  regard 

For  Scottish  worthies,  and  the  sacred  blood 

That  glued  the  stones  of  our  stout  Scottish  Kirk, 

1  '11  tell  you  what  I  know, — though,  in  good  sooth, 
Not  much  is  known  of  Myln,  and  even  that  little 
By  flippant  wits  is  mostly  overskipped, 

Whose  eye  is  all  for  courts  and  cavaliers, 
Crowns,  mitres,  coronets,  and  gaudy  crests, 
Stars,  crosses,  ribbons,  painted  heraldries, 
The  pomp  and  flare  of  life ;  but  quiet  worth 


WALTER  MYLN.  139 

In  strong-souled  martyr,  or  meek-suffering  saint, 
Like  some  fair  flower  in  hollow  glen  remote, 
Finds  not  their  roving  eye.     So  said,  I  drew 
A  circle  round  my  thoughts,  and  them  adjured 
To  do  their  master's  will ;  and  to  the  smug, 
Smooth-lipped  Oxonian  thus  my  tale  began  : 
Myln,  like  most  men,  in  those  unbookish  days, 
Who  had  no  taste  for  arms,  was  bred  to  the  Church  j 
And  as  our  Scotland  lies  remote,  a  small 
Creek  in  the  wide  sea  of  the  world,  where  tides 
Are  latest  felt,  he  sailed  abroad,  and  spread 
The  germing  blossoms  of  his  youthful  thought, 
To  burst  before  the  doctors  of  Almayne, 
Most  learned  and  subtle.     There,  belike,  his  ear 
Caught  the  first  stirrings  of  the  God-sent  gale, 
Which,  blown  tempestuous  from  the  shrilling  trump 
Of  a  poor  Saxon  monk,  smote  branchy  Rome 
With  dwindling  fear,  and  from  the  roots  uptore 
Her  pride  o'er  half  the  world.     Thence  he  returned, 
Stirred  by  new  thoughts,  and  thrilled  by  poignant 
doubts, 


140  WALTER  MYLN. 

To  his  dear  Scotland,  where  for  many  years 

The  daily  offices  of  the  church  he  used, 

And  plied  the  faithful  round  of  priestly  service, 

In  Lunan's  sandy  bay.     The  outward  man 

Long  time  was  calm  ;  but  still  the  ferment  worked 

Of  the  new  doctrine,  which  the  times  had  imped 

Into  his  budding  soul,  and  his  heart  swayed 

With  strange  discomfort  \  till  his  ripened  thoughts 

Grew  larger  than  his  place,  and  he  must  burst 

Old  bonds  of  life.     Then,  like  an  embryo  bird, 

One  day — he  knew  not  how,  but  God  that  morn 

Had  pricked  his  soul — he  cracked  his  shelly  case, 

Claimed  his  due  portion  in  a  larger  life, 

And  stood  a  freeman  in  a  land  of  slaves. 

Like  as  a  man,  who,  in  some  dusty  nook 

Of  an  old  lumber-room,  amid  a  heap 

Of  yellowed  papers,  lavishly  bescrawled 

With  silly  records  of  ephemeral  loves, 

And  trivial  sorrows,  suddenly  hath  spied 

A  parchment  signed  and  sealed,  whose  stamp  revives 


WALTER  MYLN.  141 

Lost  claims,  his  rusted  right  refurbishes, 

And  makes  him  lord  oflong  mislorded  roods  ; 

Into  new  life  he  starts,  surveys  the  world 

With  bolder  scope,  breathes  a  more  ample  breath, 

And  stands  a  peer,  who  late  had  crouched  a  slave  : 

Even  so  this  simple  priest,  before  the  power 

Of  misvouched  creeds  and  a  mistutored  church, 

Stood,  with  the  new-found  Bible  in  his  hand, 

Which  God's  own  finger  wrote. — Forthwith  he  went, 

And  preached  the  precious  truth  he  knew  to  all, 

As  free  as  he  had  found  it ;  but  not  all 

Would  gladly  hear  it.     Few  had  wit  to  know  ; 

.And  of  these  few,  the  fewest  with  strong  nerve 

Could  bear  the  radiant  truth,  but  dubious  lived, 

Fearing  the  dark,  and  blinking  at  the  day. 

Who  flings  broad  truth  into  a  falsed  age 

Must  count  his  foes  by  thousands,  and  his  friends 

By  units.     So,  indeed,  the  priesthood  raised 

About  poor  Myln  a  clattering  hue  and  cry, 

As  he  were  known  a  thief,  and  rent  the  ears 


142  WALTER  MYLN. 

O'  the  fevered  time  with  fretful  bickerment ; 
And  him  at  length  in  Dysart  town — a  place 
More  bruited  then  than  now — they  rudely  seized, 
And  to  St.  Andrews  hoary  castle  haled, 
And  barred  him  in  yon  tower  beside  the  sea, 
Whose  dungeon  yet  smelt  rank  with  innocent  blood 
Of  Wishart,  and  the  noble  Hamilton. 
There  first  with  baits  of  fleshly  lure  they  tipped 
Their  churchly  hooks,  and  promised  him  a  stall 
In  rich  Dunfermline's  abbey,  there  to  live 
In  fatted  comfort,  and  to  slide  at  ease 
Into  a  cushioned  grave.     But  not  such  man 
Such  straw  might  tickle.     So,  from  prison  dragged, 
Before  the  assembly  of  the  priests  he  stood, 
Even  in  the  pulpit  of  the  Bishop's  church 
Impeached  of  heresy ;  and  fearless  there 
With  meek  aspect  fronted  the  proud  array 
Of  priests  and  bishops,  priors,  provosts,  all 
The  knighthood  of  the  Pope,  with  motley  troops 
Of  friars,  black,  and  white,  and  grey,  as  thick 


WALTER  MYLN.  143 

As  flies,  that  on  a  sweltering  summer  day 

Have  scented  carrion  in  a  clover  field — 

Even  in  the  great  church  metropolitan 

He  in  the  pulpit  stood,  a  weak  old  man, 

But  firm,  with  face  serene,  and  shaded  soft 

With  the  mild  dignity  of  fourscore  years, 

To  answer  for  his  faith.     They  on  a  bench 

Sate  lofty-throned,  and  with  full  lofty  looks 

Surveyed  the  people,  or  with  face  composed 

To  meek  devotion,  while  high-vaulting  pride 

Housed  in  their  hearts ;  some  only  fat  and  dull, 

And  gross  with  swinish  habitude  of  soul, 

That  made  them  grunt,  when  any  cleanly  foot 

Intruded  on  their  sty.     Before  such  court 

Sworn  in  God's  name,  and  to  their  murtherous  work 

Invoking  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 

Stood  Walter  Myln.     How  they  accused  him,  what 

The  counts  of  his  offending,  you  may  read 

In  Foxe's  book  of  gospel  witnesses ; 

How  he  had  dared,  as  any  creature  dares, 


i44  WALTER  MYZJV. 

To  find  a  mate,  and  mingle  with  his  like ; 

How  he  had  said  that  bread  was  bread,  not  flesh, 

And  wine  plain  wine,  not  very  blood  of  God ; 

How  he  declared  that  bishops  were  no  bishops, 

Who  marketed  in  holy  things,  to  feed 

Not  Christ's  dear  flock,  but  their  own  pride ;  and  how 

From  land  to  land  he  pilgrimed,  not  to  kiss 

The  bones  of  maundering  monks,  and  patter  prayers 

To  swart-faced  Maries  prinked  with  trumperies, 

But  with  free  power  to  preach  the  eternal  law 

Of  truth  and  love,  and  righteousness  to  men  ! 

All  this  he  patient  heard,  and  inly  wept 

To  think  that  reasoning  men  should  reason  use, 

To  lift  flat  nonsense  into  attitudes 

Of  lofty  sense,  strutting  on  learned  stilts, 

And  weaving  curious  webs  of  twisted  phrase, 

Not  to  reveal  the  truth,  but  to  conceal. 

Then,  when  their  talk  was  done,  he  rose,  and  flung 

Their  trivial  charges  from  his  swelling  soul, 

Like  straw  before  the  wind ;  for  God  inspired 


WALTER  MYLN.  145 

The  old  man's  heart  with  breath  of  truth,  that  he, 
His  hot  youth  boiling  in  his  aged  breast, 
Made  nave  and  choir  to  ring  and  sound  again, 
So  stoutly  he  protested.     Wilt  thou  recant ? 
Quoth  Oliphant — so  hight  the  questioning  clerk — 
If  not,  the  fire  is  waiting ;  thou  shalt  die. 
Then  calmly  thus  the  old  man  spake  :  I  stand 
Accused  of  life.     I  know  that  I  must  die, 
Some  day  not  distant.    Therefore  what  you  do, 
Do  quickly.     Prove  me.     I  will  not  recant 
God's  truth  ;  for  I  am  corn  ;  I  am  no  chaff. 
Neither  with  wind  shall  I  be  blown  away, 

NOR  BURST  BY  FLAIL  J    BUT  I  WILL  BOTH  ABIDE. 

And  so  he  made  his  brave  confession,  words 
Worth  libraries  of  tinkling  rhetoric, 
Words  that  made  Scotland  free,  and  eftsoons  drave 
The  tyrannous  Pope  and  all  his  company 
Of  mitred  hirelings  from  our  ransomed  land. 
But  first  he  gave,  like  Socrates,  his  life 
To  fledge  his  words ;  and  so  with  gore  they  shent 
K 


146  WALTER  MYLN, 

His  silvery  locks,  and  for  a  winding-sheet 
Swathed  him  in  flaming  pitch ;  yet  not  without 
Deep  grudge  of  honest  men.     The  people's  heart 
Was  sick  of  blood,  nor  wished  the  old  man  dead. 
The  minions  of  the  priesthood  were  constrained — 
For  none  would  lend  a  rope — to  cut  the  cords 
Of  their  own  tents,  to  bind  him  to  the  stake ; 
Where  being  fixed,  he  stood  like  one  entranced 
With  holy  rapture  and  serene  discourse. 
Yet  not  with  dumb  submission  died ;  once  more, 
While  life  remained,  and  the  keen-crackling  blaze 
Choked  not  his  utterance,  his  free  voice  he  raised 
For  truth  and  right,  and  God  and  Christ.     And  all 
The  people's  hearts  were  moved ;  and  many  wept— 
Though  tears  were  perilous  then — and  inly  curst 
The  priestly  bonds  they  had  no  strength  to  break. 

And  so  my  tale  was  told.     I  saw  my  smooth 

Oxonian  friend  had  only  half  a  mind 

To  hear  my  story  out ;  for  these  Square-caps 


WALTER  MYLX.  147 

Give  their  free  right  hand  to  the  Pope,  to  us 

With  grudging  grace  their  left  j  but  I  was  pleased 

To  blurt  a  dash  of  broad-cast  Scottish  truth, 

Athwart  his  lisping  lips.     Well,  well  !  he  says, 

You  Scotsmen  are  a  pertinacious  brood, 

And  have  that  harsh-grained  stuff  in  you,  which  makes 

Bigots  and  martyrs,  democrats  and  bores ; 

Fitly  you  wear  the  thistle  in  your  cap, 

As  in  your  grim  theology  !     I  laughed. 

( )  we  re  not  all  so  fierce  !     God  knows,  you  '11  find 

Well-combed  and  smooth-licked  gentlemen  enough 

In  our  saloons,  who  will  rejoice  with  you 

To  sneer  at  massive  Calvin's  close-wedged  creed, 

And  deem  John  Knox  a  boor,  who  dared  to  speak 

Truth  to  a  pretty  face  topped  with  a  crown  ; 

Who  hold  that  preachers  should,  like  peers,  avouch 

Their  right  to  preach,  by  links  of  pedigree 

From  Paul  or  Peter  j  whom  a  fervid  prayer,     * 

Or  a  bold  word  turns  to  nice  squeamishness; 

Who  sigh  for  liturgies  and  surplices, 


1 48  WALTER  MYLN. 

And  all  the  frippery  of  your  silken  church  ! 

Fear  not ! — the  memory  of  our  iron  times 

Frets  the  fine  nerves  of  this  soft-nurtured  age. 

Our  very  streets  are  prankt  with  Prelacy  ; 

The  squares  of  breezy  Edinburgh  show 

Statues  to  perjured  princes,  men  who  lived 

Chief  captains  of  a  swinish  court,  and  died 

With  rotten  souls  embalmed  in  Popery. 

Proud  monuments  are  piled  to  eternise 

Lawyers  with  supple  conscience  and  glib  tongue, 

And  frizzled  kings,  with  never  a  deeper  thought 

Than  their  rolled  waistcoats — but  you  '11  beat  in  vain 

Those  streets  to  find  one  stone  to  memorise 

Dauntless  John  Knox;  or  faithful  Walter  Myln. 

So  my  Scotch  bile  I  vented ;  and  our  ways 
We  parted  :  he  across  the  golfing  ground, 
Whence  blew  the  railway's  screeching  whistle  ;  I 
To  hold  discourse  with  sage  philosophers 
Of  knowing  and  of  being,  and  to  feed 


WALTER  MYLX.  149 

Mine  eyes  with  pleasant  play  of  kindly  looks 

From    bright-eyed    dames,  who    snine    111    learning'? 

balls, 
Like  gay  birds  Hitting  through  a  dusky  grove. 


"YXTELL,  friend,  I  see  thy  soul  is  hushed ; 

Methought  thine  eye  was  weeping, 
Then  when  the  strong-winged  preacher  rushed, 
With  thunders  in  his  keeping, 

Athwart  thy  thought.     Thou  doest  well ; 

'Tis  rare  that  English  eyes 
Thaw  at  the  pulpit's  potent  spell ; 

They  are  too  coldly  wise. 

But  thou  this  day  hast  seen  and  felt, 

In  worship's  solemn  hour, 
How  in  the  rough-hewn  Scotsman  dwelt 

The  Word  of  God  with  power. 

i  The  original  of  this  picture  is  the  late  Thomas  Guthrie,  the 
eloquent  apostle  of  the  Ragged  Schools. 
150 


THE  GENEROUS  E I  'AXGELIST.  1 5 1 

No  lawn-sleeved  gospeller  he  ;  no  trim 

Vender  of  church  proprieties, 
Whence  delicate  lips  may  learn  to  brim 

With  nice  new  mixed  varieties 

Of  sacerdotal  phrase.     Not  he, 

For  ever)7  human  need, 
With  clipping  tongue  doth  guarantee 

The  stamped  and  labelled  creed 

Of  statutable  faith  ;  but  strong 

In  the  rude  strength  of  Nature, 
Amid  the  motley  human  throng, 

He  plants  his  manly  stature, 

And  flings  the  winged  Word  abroad, 

With  large  and  liberal  grace, 
As  one  that  hath  conversed  with  God  : 

Such  glory  fills  his  face. 


152  THE  GENEROUS  EVANGELIST. 

O  'tis  a  noble  sight  to  see 

A  strong  fresh-hearted  man, 
From  the  cramped  orthodoxy  free 

Of  the  square  school-bred  clan, 

•    Preach  Christ's  pure  gospel !    Why  should  men 
With  bristling  terminology 
Of  things  beyond  all  human  ken 
Fence  round  divine  theology  % 

This  man  smells  not  of  books.     A  green 

And  lusty  show  he  bears ; 
As  one  whose  foot  hath  wandering  been 

Where  vitalising  airs 

Sweep  the  far-purpled  hills.     His  God 

He  cabins  not  in  creeds  ; 
But  feels  him  where  the  fir-trees  nod, 

And  where  the  South  wind  speeds 


THE  CEXEROUS  EVANGELIST.  15. 

O'er  blossomy  fields.     In  waves  and  winds 

For  gospel  texts  he  looks  ; 
And  in  the  hearts  of  men  lie  finds 

What  no  man  found  in  books. 

Hi?  doctrines  from  the  streets  he  brings  ; 

From  ploughman's  lowly  cot, 
From  proud  palatial  halls  of  kings, 

From  dens  where  sinners  rot 

In  darkness  and  disease.     He  hath 

The  wise  man's  art  to  borrow 
From  others'  life ;  he  treads  the  path 

Of  each  man's  joy  and  sorrow, 

Even  as  a  brother.     What  all  feel 

He  speaks  ;  and  all  men  see 
The  thoughts  their  own  dim  hearts  reveal 

Glow  with  new  radiancy 


154  THE  GENEROUS  EVANGELIST. 

In  his  strong  glass.     As  lovers  see 
Their  wish  displayed  in  lovers, 

So  to  each  God-moved  spirit  he 
The  God-ward  path  discovers. 

Would  there  were  many  such  !     But  we 
By  narrow  walls  are  bounded 

Of  sundered  life  :  so  large  and  free, 
So  full,  yet  unconfounded, 

Are  few.     The  most  shape  forth  a  shell 

Of  narrow  notions  crude, 
And  in  this  self- spun  prison  dwell, 

Strange  to  all  foreign  good. 

Dear  friend,  our  Scotch  creed  is  severe, 

I  grant ;  but  Christianity 
Hath  found  one  strong  mild  champion  here 

Who  stirs  our  deep  humanity, 


THE  G  EXE  ROUS  EVANGELIST.  155 

And  makes  the  blessed  tears  to  flow, 

The  fount  of  holy,  sorrow, 
Which  if  thou  cherish  well,  thou  'It  know 

A  clearer  life  to-morrow. 

Thank  Heaven,  thou  'rt  richer  grown  this  day, 

By  one  great  fact  at  least ; 
And  all  who  wept  with  thee  may  say — 

'  Here  spake  a  generous  priest  !' 


$znt\Mcxtz. 

German  km—AllesSrhwrige! 

A  NGELS  holy, 
High  and  lowly, 
Sing  the  praises  of  the  Lord  ! 
Earth  and  sky,  all  living  nature, 
Man,  the  stamp  of  thy  Creator, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord  ! 

Sun  and  moon  bright, 

Night  and  noonlight, 
Starry  temples  azure-flooded, 
Cloud  and  rain,  and  wild  winds'  madness, 
Breeze  that  floats  with  genial  gladness, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord  ! 


BEX  ED  I  CITE.  157 

Ocean  hoary, 

Tell  His  glory. 
Cliffs,  where  tumbling  seas  have  roared ! 
Pulse  of  waters  blithely  beating, 
Wave  advancing,  wave  retreating, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord  '. 

Rock  and  high  land, 

Wood  and  island, 
Crag  where  eagle's  pride  hath  soared, 

hty  mountains  purple-breasted, 
Peaks  cloud-heaving,  snowy-crested, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord  ! 

Rolling  river, 

Praise  Him  ever, 
From  the  mountain's  deep-vein  pour 
Silver  fountain  clearly  gushing, 
Troubled  torrent  madly  rushing, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord ! 


:58  BENEDIC1TE. 

Bond  and  free  man, 

Land  and  sea  man, 
Earth  with  peoples  widely  stored, 
Wanderer  lone  o'er  prairies  ample, 
Full-voiced  choir  in  costly  temple, 
Praise  ye,  praise  ye,  God  the  Lord  ! 

Praise  Him  ever, 

Bounteous  Giver  ! 
Praise  Him,  Father,  Friend,  and  Lord  ! 
Each  glad  soul  its  free  course  winging, 
Each  blithe  voice  its  free  song  singing, 
Praise  the  great  and  mighty  Lord  ! 


^ongjs  of  life. 


<iThe  Ixibcr:  an  SUlcgorp.  of  ICife. 


COX  of  the  mountain  am  I, 
Born  'twixt  the  Earth  and  the  Sky, 
Where  kindly  cherished  I  lay 
In  my  cradle  of  soft  mossy  green, 
Looking  with  clear  bright  eye 
On  the  clouds  that  curtained  the  day, 
Floating  in  freakish  display 
With  cerulean  glimpses  between. 
Son  of  the  mountain  am  I, 
Born  'twixt  the  Earth  and  the  Sky, 
Where  the  old  grey  rocks  stand  out 

L 


:62        THE  RIVER:  AN  ALLEGORY  01  LIFE. 

'Mid  the  tempest's  revel  and  rout, 
Snorting  with  jagged  old  snout 

At  the  keen  winds  whistling  by  \ 
Where  the  eagle  spreads  his  van, 
And  the  white-winged  ptarmigan — 
Fed  by  rich  dews  from  the  sky 
There  an  infant  of  might  I  did  lie. 


II. 

Young  was  I,  and  lusty-hearted, 
When  first  from  the  mountain  I  started, 
Down  from  the  Ben's  grey  shoulders 
Over  the  old  granite  boulders>s 
Scornful  of  rest  and  of  ease, 
Eagerly  running  and  leaping, 
Scooping  the  rocks  with  my  sweeping, 

Tearing  the  roots  of  the  trees ; 
Swelling  with  torrent  big-breasted, 
Dashing  with  stream  foamy-crested 


THE  RIVER:  AN  ALLEGORY  OF  LIFE.         163 

Mighty  and  masterful  then  : 

Heaving  and  hurling, 

Whirling  and  swirling 
O'er  the  harsh  roots  of  the  Ben ; 

Foaming  and  bubbling, 

Winding  and  doubling 
Through  the  long  stretch  of  the  glen, 

So  lusty  was  I, 

Son  of  Earth  and  of  Sky, 
So  proud  ot  my  potency  then  ! 


III. 

Now  I  am  grown  to  a  River, 

With  measured  and  equable  strain 

Rolling  my  waters,  and  never 
To  toss  and  to  tumble  again ; 

I  am  grown  to  a  smooth-flooded  River. 

The  mighty  and  merciful  Giver 
Of  wealth  to  the  sons  of  the  plain. 


164        THE  RIVER:  AN  ALLEGORY  OF  LIFE. 

Through  meadows  and  terraces  pleasant 

In  triumph  of  culture  I  ride, 
With  the  home  of  the  peer  and  the  peasant 

To  bless  the  rich  roll  of  my  tide  ; 
The  firm-poised  bridge  I  flow  under, 

The  fair-builded  city  I  know, 
And  spires,  domes,  and  turrets,  a  wonder, 

Nod  their  pride  in  my  glass  as  I  go ; 
And  high-tunnelled  vessels  are  steaming 

And  churning  the  foam  of  my  tide, 
And  trafficking  thousands  are  streaming 

With  quick-eyed  despatch  at  my  side. 
And  millions  are  praising  the  River 

As  he  regally  rolls  to  the  main, 
The  mighty  and  merciful  Giver 

Of  wealth  to  the  sons  of  the  plain. 


fitmtiM  Korlb. 

"DEAUTIFUL  world! 

Though  bigots  condemn  thee, 
My  tongue  finds  no  words 

For  the  graces  that  gem  thee  ! 
Beaming  with  sunny  light, 

Bountiful  ever, 
Streaming  with  gay  delight, 
Full  as  a  river  ! 

Bright  world  !  brave  world  ! 
Let  cavillers  blame  thee  ! 
I  bless  thee,  and  bend 

To  the  God  who  did  frame  thee  ! 

165 


[66  BEAUTIFUL  WORLD. 

Beautiful  world  ! 

Bursting  around  me, 
Manifold,  million-hued 

Wonders  confound  me  ! 
From  earth,  sea,  and  starry  sky, 

Meadow  and  mountain, 
Eagerly  gushes 

Life's  magical  fountain. 

Bright  world  !  brave  world  ! 

Though  witlings  may  blame  thee, 
Wonderful  excellence 
Only  could  frame  thee  ! 


The  bird  in  the  greenwood 
His  sweet  hymn  is  trolling, 

The  fish  in  blue  ocean 
Is  spouting  and  rolling  ! 

Light  things  on  airy  wing 
Wild  dances  weaving, 


BEAUTIFUL  WORLD.  167 

Clo  Is  with  new  life  in  spring 

Swelling  and  heaving  ! 

Thou  quick-teeming  world, 

Though  scoffers  may  blame  thee,     ' 
I  wonder,  and  worship 

The  God  who  could  frame  thee  ! 


Beautiful  world  ! 

What  poesy  measures 
Thy  strong-flooding  passions, 

Thy  light-trooping  pleasures? 
Mustering,  marshalling, 
Striving  and  straining, 
Conquering,  triumphing, 
Ruling  and  reigning  ! 

Thou  bright-armied  world  ! 

So  strong,  who  can  tame  thee? 
Wonderful  power  of  God 
Only  could  frame  thee  ! 


i68  BEAUTIFUL  WORLD. 

Beautiful  world  ! 

While  godlike  I  deem  thee, 
No  cold  wit  shall  move  me 

With  bile  to  blaspheme  thee  ! 
I  have  lived  in  thy  light, 

And,  when  Fate  ends  my  story, 
May  I  leave  on  death's  cloud 
The  bright  trail  of  life's  glory ! 
Wondrous  old  world ! 

No  ages  shall  shame  thee ! 
Ever  bright  with  new  light 

From  the  God  who  did  frame  thee  !. 


4^1  omenta. 

T  N  the  beauty  of  life's  budding. 

When  young  pulses  beat  with  hope, 
And  a  purple  light  is  flooding 

Round  thought's  blossoms  as  they  ope  ; 
When  the  poet's  song  is  dearest, 

And,  where  sacred  anthems  swell, 
Every  word  of  power  thou  hearest 

Holds  thy  spirit  like  a  spell  j 

O  these  are  moments,  fateful  moments, 
Big  with  issue — use  them  well  ! 

When  a  sudden  gust  hath  tumbled 
Hope's  bright  architecture  down  ; 

When  some  prouder  fair  hath  humbled 
Thy  proud  passion  with  a  frown  j 


170  MOMENTS. 

When  thy  dearest  friends  deceive  thee, 

And  cold  looks  thy  love  repel, 
And  the  bitter  humours  grieve  thee, 
That  make  God's  fair  earth  a  hell ; 

O  these  are  moments,  trying  moments, 
Meant  to  try  thee — use  them  well ! 

When  a  flash  of  truth  hath  found  thee, 

Where  thy  foot  in  darkness  trod, 
When  thick  clouds  dispart  around  thee, 

And  thou  standest  nigh  to  God. 
When  a  noble  soul  comes  near  thee, 

In  whom  kindred  virtues  dwell, 
That  from  faithless  doubts  can  clear  thee, 

And  with  strengthening  love  compel ; 

O  these  are  moments,  rare  fair  moments  ; 
Sing  and  shout,  and  use  them  well ! 

When  a  haughty  threat  hath  cowed  thee, 
And  with  weak,  unmanly  shame, 


MOMENTS.  171 

Ignoble  thou  hast  bowed  thee 

To  the  terror  of  a  name  ; 
And  then  God  holds  the  mirror 

Where  thy  better  self  doth  dwell, 
And  thou  dost  start  with  terror, 
And  thy  tears  gush  like  a  well ; 

O  these  are  moments,  blessed  moments  ; 
Weep  and  pray,  and  use  them  well ! 

In  the  pride  of  thy  succeeding, 

When,  beneath  thy  high  command, 
Every  soul  must  own  the  leading 

Of  thy  strong-controlling  hand  ; 
When  wide  cheers  of  acclamation 

Round  thy  march  of  triumph  swell, 
And  the  plaudits  of  a  nation 

Every  thought  of  fear  expel ; 

O  these  are  moments,  slippery  moments  ; 
Watch  and  pray,  and  use  them  well  !> 


172  MOMENTS. 

When  the  term  of  life  hath  found  thee, 

And  thou  smilest  upon  Fate, 
And  the  golden  sheaves  around  thee 

For  the  angels'  sickle  wait ; 
When  the  pure  love  thou  achievest 

Doth  the  mortal  pang  expel, 
And  a  shining  track  thou  leavest 

To  dear  friends  that  love  thee  well ; 

O  these  are  moments,  happy  moments ; 
Bless  God,  with  whom  all  issues  dwell ! 


§oto  not  tit  (SovroU). 

Am — Fteut  euch  des  Lebens. 

COW  not  in  sorrow, 

Fling  your  seed  abroad,  and  know 
God  sends  to-morrow 
The  rain  to  make  it  grow  ! 

A  fool  is  he  his  woe  who  feeds, 
And  seeks  the  thorn  by  which  he  bleeds, 
While  harmless  culled  from  bloomy  meads 
The  rose  comes  to  the  wise  ! 

The  past  no  prayer  can  bring  again, 
The  future  cheats  the  scheming  brain, 
The  present  with  its  golden  gain 
Is  garnered  by  the  wise. 


1 74  SOW  NOT  IN  SORRO W. 

Let  each  to-morrow 

Do  to-morrow's  work  with  power  ; 
But  he  soweth  sorrow 

Who  lives  beyond  the  hour. 


While  mad  Ambition  stints  his  sleep, 
To  scale  the  skies  and  plumb  the  deep, 
I  trim  my  little  plot,  and  reap 
My  roses  with  the  wise. 
Dreams  you  may  borrow, 

From  the  vasty  space  around  ; 
My  work  is  thorough, 
In  my  narrow  bound. 


The  Phrygian  Midas  prayed  of  old, 
That  all  he  touched  might  turn  to  gold, 
But  thus  his  dinner,  we  are  told, 
Was  lost  to  him  unwise  ! 


SOW  NOT  IN  SORROW, 

He  found  a  sorrow- 
Where  he  hoped  a  golden  joy ; 

From  Midas  borrow, 
And  be  a  wiser  boy 


When  storms  with  wintry  muster  come, 
And  Jove  beats  loud  his  thunder  drum, 
I  sit  beside  the  fire  and  hum 

The  song  that  cheers  the  wise. 
Fear  bringeth  sorrow  j 

'Mid  the  world's  confounding  din, 
Peace  you  may  borrow 

From  faith  that 's  strong  within  ! 


When  friends  are  false  and  patrons  frown, 
And  railway  shares  go  swiftly  down, 
Weep  not !  the  cross  becomes  a  crown, 
By  magic  of  the  wise ! 


75 


1 76  SOW  NOT  IN  SORROW. 

Nurse  not  your  sorrow ; 

Though  the  cloud  be  dark  to-day, 
God  sends  to-morrow 

The  bright  and  cheering  ray ! 


When  hireling  scribes  retail  their  lies, 
And  keen  the  shaft  of  slander  flies, 
I  see  a  cherub  in  the  skies 

That  smiles  upon  the  wise. 
Spur  not  your  sorrow  ; 

Though  the  tempest  rave  to-day, 
God  sends  to-morrow 

The  peaceful  beaming  May. 


When  juggling  statesmen  trim  their  sails 
To  catch  a  whiff  from  shifting  gales, 
1  wait  the  hour  when  truth  prevails, 
And  triumph  with  the  wise. 


SO  W  NO T  IN  SORRO IV.  177 


Dream  not  to  borrow 

Peace  from  factions  battling  waves  ; 
He  reapeth  sorrow. 

Who  trusts  in  tools  and  knaves ! 


When  things  once  strong  go  to  the  wall, 
And  creeds  decay,  and  churches  fall, 
What  then  ?  God  reigns  above  them  all, 
The  Saviour  of  the  wise  ! 
Why  should  we  sorrow. 

When  a  sphere  reels  into  night  1 
God  can  to-morrow 

Make  new  worlds  more  bright. 


Thus  when  the  world  a-warring  goes, 
No  fretful  thorn  my  finger  shows, 
While  on  my  breast  I  wear  the  rose, 
The  star  that  decks  the  wise  ; 

M 


1 78  SO IV  NO T  IN  SORROW. 

Sow  not  in  sorrow  ; 

Fling  your  seed  abroad,  and  know 
God  sends  to-morrow, 

The  rain  to  make  it  grow  ! 


^The  £(bxsiad  Jftogs. 


DREKEKEKEX!  coax!   coax!  O  happy  happy 
frogs  ! 
How  sweet  ye  sing  !     Would  God  that  I 
Upon  the  bubbling  pool  might  lie, 

And  sun  myself  to-day 
With  you  !     No  curtained  bride,  I  ween, 
*Xor  pillowed  babe,  nor  cushioned  queen, 
Nor  tiny  fay  on  emerald  green, 
Nor  silken  lady  gay, 

i  Some  dozen  or  more  years  ago,  while  living  at  Liebenstein,  a 
German  hydropathic  establishment  in  Sachse-Meiningen,  I  took  a 
stroll  across  the  country  on  a  hot  summer's  day  ;  when  coming  near 
some  low  marshy  ground  I  became  aware  of  a  concert  of  soft 
musical  notes,  floating  up  gently  from  the  pools  of  water  among 
the  reeds.  Never  having  heard  anything  of  the  kind  before,  I  went 
close  up  to  the  brink  of  the  water,  and  soon  found  that  this  most 
sweet  discourse  came  from  a  colony  of  green  frogs.  Their  music 
made  such  an  impression  on  me,  that  on  the  way  back,  to  my  water- 
quarters  I  wrote  some  lines  as  a  memorandum  of  the  event,  and 
as  a  sample  of  the  philosophy  of  enjoyment,  in  which  hoys  belike 
are  sometimes  wiser  than  men. 

179 


i So  THE  MUSICAL  FROGS. 

Lies  on  a  softer  couch.     0  Heaven  ! 
How  many  a  lofty  mortal,  riven 

By  keen-fanged  inflammation, 
Might  change  his  lot  with  yours,  to  float 
On  sunny  pond  with  bright  green  coat, 
And  sing  with  gently  throbbing  throat 

Amid  the  croaking  nation, 
Brekekekex  !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 

Brekekekex  !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 
Happy  the  bard  who  weaves  his  rhyme 
Recumbent  on  the  purple  thyme, 

In  the  fragrant  month  of  June; 
Happy  the  sage,  whose  lofty  mood 
Doth  with  far-searching  ken  intrude 
Into  the  vast  infinitude 

Of  things  beyond  the  moon  ; 
But  happier  not  the  wisest  man 
Whose  daring  thought  leads  on  the  van 

Of  star-eyed  speculation, 


THE  MUSICAL  FROGS.  1S1 

Than  thou,  quick-legged,  light-bellied  thing, 
Within  the  green  pond's  reedy  ring, 
That  with  a  murmurous  joy  dost  sing 
Among  the  croaking  nation, 
Brekekekex  !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 

Brekekekex  !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 

Great  Jove  with  dark  clouds  sweeps  the  sky, 
Where  thunders  roll  and  lightnings  fly, 

And  gusty  winds  are  roaring ; 
Fierce  Mars  his  stormy  steed  bestrides, 
And,  lashing  wild  its  bleeding  sides, 
O'er  dead  and  dying  madly  rides, 

Where  the  iron  hail  is  pouring. 
'Tis  well ;  such  crash  of  mighty  Powers 
Must  be  :  the  spell  may  not  be  ours 

To  tame  the  hot  creation. 
But  little  frogs  with  paddling  foot 
Can  sing  when  gods  and  kings  dispute, 
And  little  bards  can  strum  the  lute 


182  THE  MUSICAL  FROGS. 

Amid  the  croaking  nation, 
With  Brekekekex !  coax !  coax !  O  happy  happy  frogs ! 

Brekekekex !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 
Farewell  !  not  always  I  may  sing 
Around  the  green  pond's  reedy  ring 
With  you,  ye  boggy  Muses  ! 
But  I  must  go  and  do  stern  battle 
With  herds  of  stiff-necked  human  cattle, 
Whose  eager  lust  of  windy  prattle 
The  gentle  rein  refuses. 

0  if ! — but  all  such  ifs  are  vain  ; 

1  '11  go  and  blow  my  trump  again, 

With  brazen  iteration : 
And  when,  by  Logic's  iron  rule, 
I  Ve  quashed  each  briskly  babbling  fool, 
I  '11  seek  again  your  gentle  school, 
And  hum  beside  the  tuneful  pool 
Amid  the  croaking  nation, 
Brekekekex  !  coax  !  coax  !  O  happy  happy  frogs  ! 


ITht  ijcmng  /tVan's  $ragtt. 

'he  German  0/  Baron  Bun  sen  :  written  when  he  was  a 
Student  at  Gijltingsn,  vt  the  year  1812,  igth  October. 

H^HOU,  who  of  what  Thou  art, 
And  what  Thou  dost  in  boundless  space  and  time, 

Didst  plant  the  thought  sublime 
Deep  in  the  holiest  holy  of  my  heart, 

That  I  might  well  employ 

•My  strength  upon  Thy  praise, 
Catching  some  far  ken  of  Thy  glorious  ways 
Through  the  long  march  of  the  uncounted  days, 
Drunk  with  the  fulness  of  exceeding  joy; 

O  draw  Thou  me 
Up  to  Thy  world  of  bright  unhindered  sway, 

183 


1 84  THE  YOUNG  MAN'S  PRAYER. 

Me  the  Earth-born,  and  shake  my  vision  free 
From  mortal  films  that  blind  the  face  of  day  ! 
O  hallow  Thou  my  heart, 
That  I  may  see  some  part 
Of  Thy  great  glory,  as  a  mortal  may  ! 

That  me  such  blessed  glimpse  may  consecrate 
Through  all  the  stumblings  of  this  mortal  state, 

And  float  me  high 
Above  the  bustle  of  the  driving  hour, 
x\bove  the  passion  swelling  with  mad  power, 

That,  with  unwinking  eye, 
I  may  behold  the  surging  centuries  roll, 

Serene  with  stable  soul, 
Rooted  in  Thee,  from  whom  my  being  came, 
Thee,  through  all  time  unmoved,  and  through  all 
change  the  same ! 

And,  when  my  thought  is  laden  with  rich  store, 
And  my  heart  streaming  o'er 


YOUNG  MAX'S  PR  A  185 

With  what  Thou  art,  and  what  Thou  dost,  0  then 
Give  Thou  my  tongue  the  liberal  large  employ, 
That  what  I  saw.  I  may  make  known  to  men, 
Drunk  witn  me  fulness  of  exceeding  joy  ! 


OR  A  RE,     LABORARE,     CANT  ARE. 

'""PHREE  blissful  words  I  name  to  thee, 

Three  words  of  potent  charm, 
From  eating  care  thy  heart  to  free, 

Thy  life  to  shield  from  harm. 
Whoso  these  blissful  words  may  know 
A  bold  blithe-fronted  face  shall  show, 
And  shod  with  peace  shall  safely  go 

Through  war  and  wild  alarm. 

First  ere  thy,  forward  foot  thou  move 
And  wield  thine  arm  of  might, 

Lift  up  thy  heart  to  Him  above 
That  all  thy  ways  be  right. 

186 


A  SONG  OF  THREE   WORDS.  187 

To  the  prime  Source  of  life  and  power 
Let  thy  soul  rise,  even  as  a  flower 
That  skyward  climbs  in  sunny  hour 
And  seeks  the  genial  light. 


Then  gird  thy  loins  to  manly  toil, 

And  in  the  toil  have  joy  : 
Greet  hardship  with  a  forward  smile, 

And  love  the  stern  employ. 
Thy  glory  this  the  harsh  to  tame, 
And  by  wise  stroke  and  technic  flame 
In  godlike  labour's  fruitful  name 

Old  Chaos  to  destroy. 


Then  'mid  thy  workshop's  dusty  din, 
Where  Titan  steam  hath  sway, 

Croon  to  thyself  a  song  within, 
Or  pour  the  lusty  lay ; 


1 88  A  SONG  OF  THREE   WORDS. 

Even  as  a  bird  that  cheerly  sings 
In  narrow  cage,  nor  frets  his  wings, 
But  with  full-breasted  joyance  flings 
His  soul  into  the  day. 


For  lofty  things  let  others  strive 

With  roll  of  vauntful  drum ; 
Keep  thou  thy  heart,  a  honeyed  hive, 

Like  bee  with  busy  hum. 

Chase  not  the  bliss  with  wishful  eyes 

That  ever  lures  and  ever  flies, 

But  in  the  present  joy  be  wise, 

And  let  the  future  come  ! 


(Bauucamao  Egitur ! 

German  Air. 

QAUDEAMUSig&url 

Gaudeamus  while  you  may  ! 
While  the  fleet  hour  lightly  passes, 
Honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses, 
Breathe  unchartered  breath  to-day  ! 


Gaudeamus  igitur ! 

He  is  wise  who  knows  to  prize 
Honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses, 
Kindly  cheer  and  brimming  glasses, 
Blooming  cheeks  and  beaming  eyes. 


1S9 


1 90  GA  UDEA  MUS  IGITUR. 

Qaudeamus  !  wouldst  thou  lightly 
Find  the  charm  that  saves  the  wise, 
Soar  not  high  to  realms  supernal, 
Dive  not  down  to  dens  infernal, 
Look  around  with  loving  eyes ! 


Gaudeamus  !  stray  not  far  ! 
Pleasure  walks  in  trodden  ways ; 
At  thy  feet  the  fair  flower  gather, 
Brightest  where  it  grows  the  heather 
Purples  all  the  Highland  braes  ! 


Gaudeamus  !  do  not  puzzle, 
Whence  or  whither  %  who  can  know  ? 
Here  we  are  with  hearing,  seeing, 
To  make  harvest  of  our  being, 
While  the  summers  come  and  go ! 


GA  CD  F.AM  IS  1G1TUK.  191 

Gaudeamus  !  who  will  show  us, 
Quoth  the  Psalmist,  any  good  1 
Live,  and  make  no  curious  comment, 
Firmly  grasp  the  fruitful  moment ; 
What  thy  grasp  may  hold  is  good. 


Gaudcamus  !  use  the  present, 
In  the  present  there  is  power ; 
Honest  men  and  bonnie  lasses, 
Blooming  cheeks  and  brimming  glasses, 
That 's  my  gospel  for  the  hour  ! 


Q  (Song  oi  <St.  §oct&U*- 

Old  English  Air —  To  Anacreon  in  Heaven. 

I. 

HPO  Socrates,  seated  in  bliss  with  St.  Paul, 
A  club  of  good  fellows  sent  up  a  petition, 
That  they  by  his  name  might  their  brotherhood  call, 
When   this  answer  came  down  from  the  jolly  old 
Grecian — 

Men  north  of  the  Tweed, 

I  wish  you  God-speed, 
You  may  borrow  my  name,  if  you  hold  by  my  creed ; 

And  this  creed  hath  been  mine, 

In  bright  union  to  join 
Religion  and  beauty,  wit,  wisdom,  and  wine  I 

192 


A  SOXG  OF  ST.  SOCRATES.  193 

II. 

I  have  heard  in  the  skies  that  you  brave  Scottish  men 
For  freedom  of  faith  nobly  spread  out  your  banners  ; 
This  thing  I  approve  ;  but  I  shake  my  head  when 
They  say  you  are  sour  and  severe  in  your  manners  ! 

Though  the  thorn  with  the  rose 

You  must  take  as  it  grows, 
No  thorn  without  roses  brings  joy  to  the  nose, 
And  they  only  are  wise  who  can  cunningly  join 
Religion  and  beauty,  wit,  wisdom,  and  wine  ! 


III. 

Twas  yesterday  only,  myself  and  St.  Paul, 
When  vespers  were  over,  sat  sipping  our  nectar, 
There  came  up  from  earth  to  the  heavenly  hall 
A  lean-visaged  fellow,  as  pale  as  a  spectre ; 
A  cross  on  his  breast, 
And  a  rope  round  his  vest, 
And  a  skull  in  his  hand  very  plainly  confessed 


194  A  SONG  OF  ST.  SOCRATES. 

That  he  knew  not  in  mystical  wedlock  to  join 
With  piety  pleasure,  and  wisdom  with  wine  ! 


IV. 

Such  fellows  I  hate :  so  I  said,  in  this  place 

All  cherubs  are  rosy,  no  seraph  is  yellow ; 

We  don't  measure  worth  by  the  length  of  the  face, 

So  sit  down  with  Paul  and  with  me,  and  be  mellow  ! 

With  hollow  surprise 

He  broadened  his  eyes, 
And  held  up  his  hand  for  a  sign  to  the  skies, 
Showing  plainly  he  knew  not  the  cunning  to  join 
Religion  with  reason,  and  wisdom  witn  wine. 


To  this  self-tormentor  what  after  befell, 

Who  looked  like  a  lemon,  when  nectar  was  flowing, 

If  he  went  back  to  earth,  or  was  trapped  into  hell, 


A  SONG  OF  ST.  SOCRATES.  195 

I  really  don't  know,  and  'tis  not  worth  the  knowing. 

Myself  and  St.  Paul, 

When  on  earth's  cloudy  ball, 
Were  never  found  lagging  when  duty  did  call ; 
We  stood  for  our  faith,  where  our  life  was  the  fine, 
Uut  we  never  looked  sour  on  a  glass  of  good  wine  ! 


VI. 

And  now  my  discourse  you  have  heard  to  the  end, 
My  name  you  may  use,  and  you  know  the  condition, 
If  wisely  you  temper  and  skilfully  blend 
The  hard-headed  Scot  with  the  quick-witted  Grecian : 

Myself  and  St.  Paul, 

From  the  bright  azure  hall,   . 
Will  bring  your  petitions  and  wait  on  your  call, 
And  teach  you  to  mingle  in  harmony  fine 
A  song  with  a  sermon,  and  wisdom  with  wine. 


Jt  §ouq  oi  Summer. 

*  A/ways  in  your  darkest  hours  strive  to  remember  your  brightest.' 

J.  P.  RlCHTER. 

*  O ING  me  a  song  of  Summer, 
For  my  heart  is  wintry  sad, 
That  glorious  bright  new-comer, 
Who  makes  all  Nature  glad  ! 
Sing  me  a  song  of  Summer, 

That  the  dark  from  the  bright  may  borrow, 
And  the  part  in  the  radiant  whole  of  things 
May  drown  its  little  sorrow ! 

Sing  me  a  song  of  Summer, 

When  God  walks  forth  in  light, 
And  spreads  his  glowing  mantle 

O'er  the  blank  and  the  grey  of  the  night ; 

196 


A  SONG  OF  SUMMER.  197 

And  where  he  comes,  his  quickening  touch 

Revives  the  insensate  dead, 
And  the  numbed  and  frozen  pulse  of  things 

Beats  music  to  his  tread. 

Sing  me  a  song  of  Summer, 

With  his  banners  of  golden  bloom, 
That  glorious  bright  new-comer, 

Who  bears  bleak  winter's  doom, 
With  banners  of  gold  and  of  silver, 

And  wings  of  rosy  display, 
And  verdurous  power  in  his  path, 

When  he  comes  in  the  pride  of  the  May ; 

When  he  comes  with  his  genial  sweep 
O'er  the  barren  and  bare  of  the  scene, 

And  makes  the  stiff  earth  to  wave 
With  an  ocean  of  undulant  green  \ 

With  flourish  of  leafy  expansion, 
And  boast  of  luxuriant  bloom, 


198  A  SONG  OF  SUMMER. 

And  the  revel  of  life  as  it  triumphs 
O'er  the  dust  and  decay  of  the  tomb. 

Sing  me  a  song  of  Summer ; 

O  God  !  what  a  glorious  thing 
Is  the  march  of  this  mighty  new-comer 

With  splendour  of  life  on  his  wing  ! 
When  he  quickens  the  pulse  of  creation, 

And  maketh  all  feebleness  strong, 
Till  it  spread  into  blossoms  of  beauty, 

And  burst  into  paeans  of  song  ! 

Sing  me  a  song  of  Summer  ! 

Though  my  heart  be  wintry  and  sad, 
The  thought  of  this  blessed  new-comer 

Shall  foster  the  germ  of  the  glad. 
'Neath  the  veil  of  my  grief  let  me  cherish 

The  joy  that  shall  rush  into  day, 
When  the  bane  of  the  winter  shall  perish 

In  the  pride  and  the  power  of  the  May. 


Jfaretoell  to  <Summer. 

r  HEARD  the  whistling  North  wind  say 

When  it  came  down  with  power, 
Athwart  the  russet  ferny  brae, 
And  by  the  old  grey  tower : 
I  heard  the  whistling  North  wind  say, 

Bright  Summer  suns  no  more 
Shall  shine  on  Oban's  dimpled  bay, 
And  green  Dunolly's  shore. 

I  saw  a  fox-glove  in  the  dell 

Beneath  the  crag  so  grey, 
One  lonely,  lean,  belated  bell. 

And  thus  it  seemed  to  say  : 

199 


200  FAREWELL  TO  SUMMER. 

The  glory  of  the  June  is  past, 

My  purple  kin  are  gone, 
And  I  am  left  a  poor  outcast 

To  die  in  the  cold  alone  ! 

I  saw  the  long  black  ragged  cioud 

O'ercap  the  frowning  Bens, 
And  trails  of  thick  blue  mist  enshroud 

The  green  far-gleaming  glens  ; 
And  thus  the  black  cloud  seemed  to  say, 

Now  Summer  suns  are  dim, 
The  stout  old  Winter  holds  his  sway, 

And  I  will  reign  with  him. 

And  is  it  so  % — brightest  of  things, 
God's  beauty-vested  Summer, 

Shall  it  depart  on  hasty  wings 
That  vvas  so  late  a  comer 

And  I  who  lived  with  fragrant  breeze, 
Blue  skies,  and  purple  braes, 


FAREWELL   TO  SUMMER. 

On  hueless  llowers  and  leafless  trees 
Must  feed  my  widowed  gaze? 

It  may  not  be  :  up  !  let  us  go  ! 

I  will  not  stay  and  look 
Where  gorgeous  Nature's  pictured  show 

Is  now  a  blotted  book. 
Let  Nature  die  !     She  '11  live  again 

When  six  dull  months  expire  ; 
Meanwhile  against  both  wind  and  rain 

Heap  we  the  blazing  fire, 

Snug  m  the  chambered  town  !  and  call 

My  troop  of  friends  together, 
And  for  six  months  let  no  word  fall 

Of  Nature,  wind,  or  weather; 
And  ply  the  work  of  thought  or  art 

That  helps  both  self  and  neighbour, 
And  sing  with  glad  and  guileless  heart 

The  song  that  seasons  labour. 


202  FAREWELL  TO  SUMMER. 

And  bring  the  grey  tomes  from  the  shelves 

And  learn  strong  will  from  Cato, 
And  take  high  value  of  ourselves 

From  lofty-thoughted  Plato  : 
And,  while  with  friendly  cheer  we  pass 

The  rare,  rich-blooded  bottle, 
Give  learned  flavour  to  the  glass 

By  saws  from  Aristotle  ! 

And  then, we '11  talk  of  Church  and  State, 
•  And  wish  the  hangman's  rope 
To  wed  their  necks  to  righteous  Fate 

Who  love  the  Roman  Pope  ! 
And  blame  the  loons  who  gave  the  sway 

To  the  mere  polled  majority, 
With  clamorous  yells  to  overbray 

The  voice  of  grave  authority. 

And  then, — why  then,  we  '11  go  to  bed, 
And  wake,  above  all  sorrow 


FAREWELL  TO  SUMMER.  203 

Of  factious  brawls  to.  lift  our  head, 

By  faithful  work  to-morrow, — 
Work  through  long  weeks  of  blustering  storm, 

And  Winter's  gloomy  reign, 
Till  the  great  pulse  of  things  grow  warm, 

And  Nature  lives  again. 

And  suns  shall  shine,  and  birds  shall  sing, 

And  odorous  breezes  blow, 
And  ferns  uncurl  their  folded  wing 

Where  star- eyed  flowerets  grow ; 
And  surly  blasts  shall  cease  to  bray, 

And  stormy  seas  to  roar 
On  Oban's  warm  sun-fronting  bay, 

And  green  Dunolly's  shore. 


&  §ong  xrf  thz  Comttrg. 

Written  near  Witley,  in  Surrey. 

A  WAY  from  the  roar  and  the  rattle, 
The  dust  and  the  din  of  the  town, 
Where  to  live  is  to  brawl  and  to  battle, 

Till  the  strong  treads  the  weak  man  down  ! 
Away  to  the  bonnie  green  hills 

Where  the  sunshine  sleeps  on  the  brae, 
And  the  heart  of  the  greenwood  thrills 
To  the  hymn  of  the  bird  on  the  spray. 

Away  from  the  smoke  and  the  smother, 
The  veil  of  the  dun  and  the  brown, 

The  push  and  the  plash  and  the  pother, 
The  wear  and  the  waste  of  the  town  ! 


204 


A  SOXG  OF  THE  COUNTRY.  205 

Away  where  the  sky  shines  clear, 
And  the  light  breeze  wanders  at  will, 

And  the  dark  pine-wood  nods  near 
To  the  light-plumed  birch  on  the  hill. 

Away  from  the  whirling  and  wheeling, 

And  steaming  above  and  below, 
Where  the  heart  has  no  leisure  for  feeling, 

And  the  thought  has  no  quiet  to  grow. 
Away  where  the  clear  brook  purls, 

And  the  hyacinth  droops  in  the  shade, 
And  the  wing  of  the  fern  uncoils 

Its  grace  in  the  depth  of  the  glade. 

Away  to  the  cottage  so  sweetly 

Embowered  'neath  the  fringe  of  the  wood, 
Where  the  wife  of  my  bosom  shall  meet  me 

With  thoughts  ever  kindly  and  good. 
More  dear  than  the  wealth  of  the  world, 

Fond  mother  with  bairnies  three, 


206  A  SONG  OF  THE  COUNTRY. 

And  the  plump-armed  babe  that  has  curled 
Its  lips  sweetly  pouting  for  me. 

Then  away  from  the  war  and  the  rattle 

The  dust  and  the  din  of  the  town, 
Where  to  live  is  to  brawl  and  to  battle 

Till  the  strong  treads  the  weak  man  down. 
Away  where  the  green  twigs  nod 

In  the  fragrant  breath  of  the  May, 
And  the  sweet  growth  spreads  on  the  sod, 

And  the  blithe  birds  sing  on  the  spray. 


Jl  (Song  of  Jathcrlano  bv  a  UrabcUer. 

Air — Ho  I  are  ye  sleeping,  Maggie? 

T  'VE  wandered  east,  I  've  wandered  west, 

In"  gipsy-wise  a  random  roamer  j 
Of  men  and  minds  I  Ve  known  the  best, 
Like  that  far-travelled  king  in  Homer. 
But  O  !  for  the  land  that  bore  me, 
O  !  for  the  stout  old  land 
Of  breezy  Ben  and  winding  glen, 
And  roaring  flood,  and  sounding  strand  ! 

I  've  seen  the  domes  of  Moscow  far, 
In  green  and  golden  glory  gleaming  ; 

And  stood  where  sleeps  the  mighty  Czar, 
By  Neva's  flood  so  grandly  streaming. 
But  O  !  etc. 

207 


208  A  SONG  OF  FATHERLAND. 

I  Ve  stood  on  many  a  storied  spot, 

Where  blood  of  heroes  flowed  like  rivers, 

Where  Deutschland  rose  at  Gravelotte, 

And  dashed  the  strength  of  Gaul  to  shivers. 
But  O  !  etc. 

I  Ve  stood  where  stands  in  pillared  pride, 
The  shrine  of  Jove's  spear- shaking  daughter, 

And  humbled  Persia  stained  the  tide 

Of  free  Greek  seas  with  heaps  of  slaughter. 
But  O  !  etc. 

I  Ve  stood  upon  the  rocky  crest, 

Where  Jove's  proud  eagle  spreads  his  pinion, 
Where  looked  the  God  far  east,  far  west, 

And  all  he  saw  was  Rome's  dominion. 
But-0  !  etc. 

I  Ve  fed  my  eyes  by  land  and  sea, 

With  sights  of  grandeur  streaming  o'er  me, 


A  SOiYG  OF  FA  THERLAXD.  209 

But  still  my  heart  remains  with  thee, 

Dear  Scottish  land,  that  stoutly  bore  me. 
0  !  for  the  land  that  bore  me, 
0  1  for  the  stout  old  land, 
With  mighty  Ben,  and  winding  glen, 
Stout  Scottish  land,  my  own  dear  land  ! 


(Song  of  Jfmmasxmrg. 


r**  OD  save  me !  at  last  the  grim  waste  I  have  passed 

Of  a  prickly  scholastic  theology, 
And  now  in  a  region  I  float,  where  religion 

To  common  sense  owes  no  apology. 
But  pray  don't  expect  I  shall  found  a  new  sect, 

No  pulpit  on  earth  I  've  an  eye  to  ! 
My  new  patent  plan 's  to  be  merely  a  man, 
And  as  I  was  born  live  and  die  too  ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Squabbles  of  High  Church  and  Low  Church ' 

210 


A  SOXG  OF  FREEMASOXRY.  211 

'Tis  my  present  plan 
To  be  merely  a  max, 
And  laugh  both  at  High  Church  and  Low 
Church  ! 

II. 

I  looked  and  I  wondered,  I  battled  and  blundered 

With  much  metaphysical  struggle, 
With  saintly  desiring,  and  pious  aspiring, 

Till  reason  itself  seemed  a  juggle. 
And  now  the  poor  swimmer,  with  every  vain  glimmer 

Of  hope  sank  more  deep  than  before,  Sir  ! 
Till  I  fell  on  this  notion  of  healthy  devotion, 
That  a  man  is  a  man,  and  no  more,  Sir  ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Squabbles  of  High  Church  and  Low  Church  ! 
If  no  wisdom  .you  see 
In  my  masonry  free, 
Then  go  to  the  High  or  the  Low  Church  ! 


212  A  SONG  OF  FREEMASONRY. 

III. 

Tis  new,  and  'tis  old,  to  no  Churchman  'tis  sold, 

This  gospel  all  true  hearts  believe  it, 
And  blessed  are  they,  'mid  the  sons  of  the  clay, 

Who  with  hearty  good  welcome  receive  it. 
O  !  seek  not  a  spell  from  the  dark  depths  of  hell, 

Nor  let  not  the  bright  starry  host  win  you  ! 
The  gospel  of  God  is  at  no  bishop's  nod, 

*  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  within  you  ' ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Vain  wisdom  of  High  and  of  Low  Church  ; 
Though  the  cock  on  the  steeple 
Is  gilt  for  the  people, 
And  bells  ring  for  High  and  for  Low  Church! 


IV. 

A  poor  Arab  maid  may  with  faith  undismayed, 
Her  heart  in  the  desert  sustain,  Sir  ! 


A  SONG  OF  FREEMASONRY.  213 

And  a  Christian  may  tread  on  a  poor  brother's  head. 

And  all  for  most  heathenish  gain,  Sir ! 
In  Christian  and  Turk  the  deep  Devil  may  lurk, 

In  Kaiser  and  Tartary  Khan,  Sir  ! 
But  I  know  a  spell  that  will  blast  him  to  hell, 
Tis  to  swear  by  the  God  that 's  in  max,  Sir  ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Harsh  dogmas  of  Hidi  Church  and  Low 
Church. 
For  what 's  in  a  name  ? 
'Tis  smoke  round  the  flame 
To  bemuddle  both  High  Church  and  Low 
Church. 


V. 

Of  eternal  decrees  and  election  I  can 
Know  as  much  and  as  little  as  you,- Sir  ! 

But  that  I  'm  a  man  who  can  purpose  and  plan, 
'Tis  true,  by  the  Powers,  'tis  true,  Sir  ! 


214  A  SONG  OF  FREEMASONRY. 

And  ;tis  my  intention,  I  modestly  mention, 

To  cleave  to  my  kin  and  my  clan,  Sir  ! 
And  do  some  small  good  to  the  brave  brotherhood 
That  graces  the  title  of  man,  Sir  ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Mere  quibbles  of  High  Church  and  Low- 
Church  ! 
Your  wits  run  aground, 
Or  in  misty  profound, 
You  are  swamped  by  the  High  and  the  Low 
Church  i 


VI. 

My  fancy  bright  weaves  it,  my  firm  faith  believes  it, 
The  time  is  not  far,  but  is  near,  now ! 

When  strong  hearts  with  glee  shall  shake  their  wings 
free 
From  crotchets  and  whims  that  are  dear  now  1 


A  SOXG  OF  FREEMASOXRV.  215 

When  every  true  man  shall  bless  brother  man 

By  Bible-law  and  by  Koran,  Sir  ! 
And  each  true  heart  brim  with  free  worship  to  Him 
Whose  image  shines  brightest  in  man,  Sir  ! 
Orthodox,  heterodox, 
Luther,  and  Laud,  and  Knox, 
Vain  squabbles  of  High  Church  and  Low 
Church  ! 
In  God  and  in  Man 
I  believe  ;  but  I  can 
Subscribe  to  sheer  nonsense  in  no  Church  ! 


'  /  will  overturn,  overturn,  overturn  it  I ' — Ezekiel. 

'  Break  up  your  fallow  ground,  and  sow  not  among  thorns.'' 

Jeremiah. 

T  DID  dream  a  bodeful  dreaming ; 
Thunders  rolled,  red  fires  were  gleaming, 

Earth  did  quake. 
And  I  saw  God's  angel  winging 
Earthward,  earnest  message  bringing ; 
Fearful  in  my  ears  'tis  ringing : 

Thus  he  spake  : 

'  Rouse  thee,  Wrath,  and  be  a  giant ! 
People's  Will,  that  hath  been  pliant 
Long,  too  long, 

216 


A  RE  I  'OL  UT10NA  R  Y  ODE.  2 1 7 

Up !  and  snap  the  rusty  chaining, 
Brittle  bond  for  thy  restraining  \ 
Know  the  hour ;  the  weak  are  reigning  j 
Thou  art  strong. 

*  Rise,  and  right  the  wrongs  of  ages, 
Balance  Time's  unequal  pages 

With  the  sword  ! 
Velvet-cushioned  fools  have  slumbered, 
Wanton  weeds  my  garden  cumbered  ; 
Now  their  barren  days  are  numbered, 

Saith  the  Lord. 

1  Hear,  ye  loveless,  narrow-hearted, 
Few  for  whom  the  many  smarted, 

Hear  my  word  ! 
I  have  heard  the  people's  moaning, 
I  have  known  the  poor  man's  groaning, 
I  have  vowed  a  red  atoning, 

Saith  the  Lord  ! 


2 18  A  RE  VOL  UTIONAR  Y  ODE, 

1  Who  have  lived  in  pillowed  pleasure, 
Ye  shall  now,  in  righteous  measure, 

Eat,  the  dust ; 
Who  beheld  the  bondman  sallow 
Pine,  that  ye  in  lust  might  wallow, 
Ye  shall  fat  young  Freedom's  fallow  ! 

So  'tis  just. 

1  People's  heroes,  mountain-breasted, 
Looking  lightnings,  tempest-crested, 

Seize  the  sword 
Bellow  with  a  vengeful  thunder, 
Turn  each  topmost  over  under, 
Let  Pride's  purple  minions  wonder, 

Saith  the  Lord  ! 

'  For  their  hopes  a  strong  delusion, 
For  their  plans  a  dark  confusion, 

I  have  stored ; 


A  REVOLUTIONARY  ODE.  219 

Pride  with  folly  shall  be  mated, 
Wisdom  still  shall  come  belated, 
Mercy  shall  not  find  the  fated, 

Saith  the  Lord  ! 

*  Iron  men  and  unrelenting, 
Who  shall  do,  without  repenting, 

Deeds  abhorred, 
For  my  vengeance  I  have  chosen  ; 
Them  no  wheedling  words  shall  cozen  ; 
They  are  hard,  their  tears  are  frozen, 

Saith  the  Lord  ! 

*  Sudden  fear  shall  seize  the  palace ; 
Every  wile  of  witless  malice 

Shall  be  tried. 
Things  despised,  the  weak,  the  nameless, 
I  will  fire  with  fury  tameless  ; 
They  shall  smite,  themselves  not  blameless, 

Blameful  pride. 


220  A  REVOLUTIONARY  ODE. 

1  Kings  shall  meet  and  band  together, 
Despot  spread  for  despot  brother 

Solemn  board. 
What  they  vow  they  shall  pursue  it, 
I  will  spur  and  goad  them  to  it ; 
They  shall  do  ;  I  will  undo  it, 

Saith  the  Lord  ! 


4  March,  mine  elect  iron  warriors  ! 
Strike  !  and  old  Pride's  jealous  barriers 

Stand  no  more. 
Ye  shall  judge  the  kings  with  rigour, 
Ope  the  lists  to  strength  and  vigour; 
Earth  her  increase  to  the  digger 

Shall  restore. 


1  Tear  the  patch-work,  rend  the  rotten, 
Let  the  useless  be  forgotten, 

Earth  the  dead  ! 


A  REVOLUTIOXARY  ODE.  221 

Time  'tis  none  for  square  and  bevel, 
Those  I  send  shall  raze  and  level ; 
Terror  through  the  courtly  revel 

They  shall  spread  ! 

1  Wit  I  sent — the  fools  did  scoff  it ; 
Love  they  knew  not ;  now  my  prophet 

Is  the  Sword. 
With  stern  hate  I  have  begun  it ; 
When  strong  Love  hath  bravely  won  it, 
They  shall  know  that  I  have  done  it, 

Saith  the  Lord  !' 

Spake  the  God-sent,  thunder-knelling, 
Feeble  hearts  of  men  compelling, 

And  upsoared. 
I  with  salved  sight  awaking, 
In  swift  ruin's  overtaking, 
In  the  firm  Earth's  fearful  quaking, 

Knew  the  Lord. 


31  IBxxqz. 

AlR — Vom  hoftn  Olympt 


A  ND  is  she  gone ;  lost,  lost  to  us  for  ever, 
Gone  back  to  mystery  and  to  God, 
And  shall  we  look  upon  her  beauty  never, 
Laid  'neath  the  cold  unfeeling  sod  1 

Pour  the  sharp  sorrow,  'tis  human  to  mourn, 
Never,  O  never,  the  Dead  may  return  ! 


II. 

O  she  was  fair,  to  nice  completeness  rounded, 
Soft  as  a  flower,  bright  as  a  star, 


A  DIRGE. 

Of  even'  diverse  human  good  compounded, 
To  make  choice  music  without  jar  ! 
Pour,  etc. 

Ui. 

Now  she  is  gone  ;  Earth  quits  her  grace  for  ever, 
And  native  Heaven  reclaims  his  child, 

Bright  mirror  of  the  glory  of  the  Giver, 
In  stainless  radiance  undefiled. 
Pour,  etc. 

IV. 

O  my  lean  eyes  !  she 's  hid,  she 's  hid  for  ever, 

Dark,  dark  with  mystery  and  with  God  ; 
And  all  my  weeping  can  recall  her  never, 
Back  from  the  cold  unfeeling  sod ! 

Pour  the  sharp  sorrow,  'tis  human  to  mourn, 
Never  on  Earth  the  lost  Dead  may  return  ! 


Jlbbice  to  a  faticmrtti  <Stttt)mt  on  leabirtg 
College. 

T^\EAR  youth,  grey  books  no  blossoms  bear; 

Thou  hast  enough  of  learning  ; 
For  life's  green  fields  thy  march  prepare, 

And  take  my  friendly  warning. 
I  would  not  have  thee  longer  stay, 

To  read  of  others'  striving  ; 
Wield  thine  own  arm  ! — the  only  way 

To  know  life  is  by  living. 

The  brain 's  a  small  part  of  a  man ; 

Though  thought  has  wide  dominions, 
Thou  canst  not  lift  the  smallest  stone 

By  Speculation's  pinions. 


224 


ADVICE  TO  A  FAVOURITE  STUDENT..      225 

Who  learns  an  art  by  lifeless  rule, 
Through  mists  will  still  be  blinking ; 

The  subtlest  thinker  is  a  fool, 

Who  spins  mere  webs  of  thinking. 


The  times  are  feverish  ;  mark  me  well ! 

Have  faith  and  patience  by  thee  3 
Unless  thou  curl  into  thy  shell, 

Thou  'It  find  enough  to  try  thee. 
But  that 's  a  weak  device.     I  know 

Thou  'It  face  it  free  and  fearless ; 
But  O  !  beware  the  greater  foe, 

A  spirit  proud  and  prayerless  ! 


I  love  a  bold  and  venturous  boy, 
Who,  full  of  fresh  emotion, 

Launches  with  large  and  liberal  joy 
On  life's  wide-rolling  ocean. 
P 


226       ADVICE  TO  A  FAVOURITE  STUDENT 

But  there  are  rocks ;  and  blind  to  steer 
Were  thoughtless  folly's  merit : 

Curb  thou  thy  force  with  holy  fear, 
And  keep  a  watchful  spirit 


Where  eager  crowds  contend  for  pelf, 

The  seller  and  the  buyer, 
Each  one  free  range  seeks  for  himself, 

And  cares  for  nothing  higher. 
Make  honey  in  an  ordered  hive, 

Nor  join  the  lawless  scramble 
Of  men,  with  whom  in  life  to  thrive 

Is  with  good  luck  to  gamble. 


We  live  in  days  when  all  would  climb 
With  hot,  high-strung  employment ; 

Some  rage  in  prose,  some  writhe  in  rhyme, 
All  hate  a  calm  enjoyment. 


ON  LEAVING  COLLEGE.  227 

Freedom  's  the  watchword  of  the  hour ; 

But  O  !  'tis  melancholy 
When  every  bubbling  brain  has  power 

To  drown  calm  thought  with  folly  ! 


The  age  is  full  of  talkers.     Thou 

Be  silent  for  a  season, 
Till  slowly-ripening  facts  shall  grow 

Into  a  stable  reason. 
Pert  witlings  fling  crude  fancies  round, 

As  wanton  whim  conceits  them, 
Pleased  when  from  fools  the  echoed  sound 

Of  their  own  folly  greets  them. 


Nurse  thou,  where  eager  babble  spreads, 

A  quiet  brooding  nature, 
Nor  strive,  by  lopping  taller  heads, 

To  raise  thy  lesser  stature. 


228        ADVICE  TO  A  FAVOURITE  STUDENT 

Eschew  the  cavilling  critic's  art, 

The  lust  of  loud  reproving  ; 
The  brain  by  knowledge  grows,  the  heart 

Is  larger  made  by  loving. 


All  things  we  cannot  know.     At  sea 

As  when  a  good  ship  saileth, 
Our  steps  wTithin  the  planks  are  free, 

Beyond  all  cunning  faileth. 
So  man  as  by  a  living  bond 

Of  circling  powers  is  bounded  ; 
Within  the  line  is  ours,  beyond 

The  sharpest  wit 's  confounded. 


What  thing  thou  knowest,  nicely  know 
With  curious  fine  dissection  \ 

The  smallest  mite  can  something  show 
That  chains  thy  rapt  inspection. 


ON  LEAVING  COLLEGE. 

Allwhere  with  holy  caution  move, 

In  God  thy  life  is  moving  ; 
All  things  with  reverent  patience  prove, 

'Tis  God's  will  thou  art  proving. 


What  thing  thou  doest,  bravely  do ; 

When  Heaven's  clear  call  hath  found  thee, 
Follow  ! — with  fervid  wheels  pursue, 

Though  thousands  bray  around  thee  ! 
Yet  keep  thy  zeal  in  rein  ;  despise 

No  gentle  preparation  j 
Flash  not  God's  truth  on  blinking  eyes, 

With  reckless  inspiration  I 


Farewell,  my  brave,  my  bright-eyed  boy  ! 

And  from  the  halls  of  learning, 
Thy  face,  my  long  familiar  joy, 

Take,  with  this  friendly  warning. 


230      ADVICE  TO  A  FAVOURITE  STUDENT. 

And  when  with  weighty  truth  thou  'rt  fraught 
From  Life,  the  earnest  preacher, 

Think  sometimes  with  a  kindly  thought 
On  me,  thy  faithful  teacher. 


TO  A  YOUNG   LADY  ON    HER   BIRTHDAY. 

TV/T  AIDEN,  on  thy  father's  garden 
Thou  dost  look,  and  thou  dost  see 
Growths  of  green  and  golden  beauty 
Many,  but  their  types  are  three  ; 
One  the  tree,  the  strong,  tall-bodied, 
Branching  forth  with  arms  of  power, 
One  with  foodful  root  or  fruitage, 
One  with  fragrant-blooming  flower. 


Maiden,  all  things  are  a  symbol ; 
Tree,  and  flower,  and  foodful  weed 
Quaintly  preach  a  pictured  lesson, 
If  thine  eyes  are  wise  to  read. 


2c  1 


232  THE  GARDEN. 

Lend  thy  hearing ;  sixty  summers 
Not  in  vain  have  wisdomed  me  ; 
I  will  show  thee  what  the  garden 
Quaintly  teaches  me  and  thee. 


In  the  tree  behold  thy  father ; 
Strongly  built  is  he  to  stand 
In  the  brunt  of  life  unshaken 
With  an  eye  of  cool  command. 
In  the  tempest's  face  he  tosses 
Forth  his  arms  ;  and  gentle  things 
Gather  round  his  bole,  and  glory 
In  the  lordship  of  his  wings. 


In  the  foodful  herb,  thy  mother 
Finds  meet  symbol,  by  whose  care 
All  the  household  fed  and  nourished 
Stands  so  firm,  and  shows  so  fair. 


THE  GARDEX.  233 

She  is  toiling  late  and  early, 
Working  where  no  eye  can  see, 
Like  the  root,  'neath  earthy  covert 
Growing  healthful  food  for  thee. 


And  thou,  laughing  Henrietta, 
What  remains  for  thee  %  the  flower ; 
Growth  the  fairest  and  the  sweetest 
In  the  green  redundant  bower. 
And  the  flower  with  fragrant  blossom 
That  so  aptly  symbols  thee, 
What  with  pictured  text  it  preaches 
Hear,  thou  dainty  maid,  from  me. 


Youth  is  lovely ;  cherish  beauty ; 
Tis  thy  dower  ;  not  in  vain 
God  with  lavish  blooms  of  beauty 
Spanned  the  slope,  and  sowed  the  plain. 


234  THE  GARDEN. 

Goodness  is  the  soul  of  beauty ; 
Cherish  goodness  ;  it  will  shine 
Through  the  glooms  of  life  the  darkest, 
Like  bright  rubies  in  a  mine. 


Loveliest  flowers  have  sweetest  fragrance  ; 
Let  sweet  fragrance  flow  from  thee, 
Vivid  breath  of  pure  emotion, 
Flame  from  smoky  passion  free. 
Lowly  reverence,  gentle  pity, 
Every  gracious  thought  benign 
From  the  loving  heart  of  woman 
That  makes  human  life  divine. 


Maiden,  thou  hast  heard  the  lesson, 
As  my  tongue  had  strength  to  tell, 
Typed  for  thee,  in  flowery  garden ; 
Take  it  now,  and  use  it  well. 


THE  GARDEN.  235 

Winged  words  are  lightly  spoken, 
With  the  breath  the  sermon  dies ; 
But  the  precept  of  the  moment 
Tasks  a  lifetime  to  the  wise. 


%hz  Wixsoom  of  %'xiz. 

\  \  7"0ULD  you  lead  a  happy  life, 

Free  from  melancholy, 
Gnawing  care  and  thorny  strife, 

And  plunges  of  blind  folly — 
I  will  tell  you  how  to  live 

Heartily  and  truly, 
With  sweet  honey  in  your  hive, 

Like  a  bee  in  July. 

Like  the  bee,  be  out  and  work 
When  the  sun  is  shining, 

Never  in  a  corner  lurk, 
Whimpering  and  whining. 


236 


THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE.  237 

If  you  scour  the  fields,  you  '11  find 

Thyme,  or  mint,  or  clover ; 
Something  to  a  willing  mind 

God  will  still  discover. 


When  the  sky  is  grim  and  grey, 

Though  the  clouds  rain  fountains, 
March  ;  and  molehills  on  your  way 

Don't  mistake  for  mountains. 
If  a  ghost  beside  you  stand, 

Make  no  fearful  comment ; 
But  face  the  shadow  boldly,  and 

'Tis  vanished  in  a  moment ! 


What  the  folks  of  you  may  say 

Never  mind  a  rattle, 
Spin  your  quiet  yarn,  while  they 

Waste  their  wind  in  battle. 


238  THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE. 

Lies  that  float  on  windy  wings 
With  windy  haste  will  perish ; 

But  the  seed  of  truthful  things 
Time's  fruitful  womb  will  cherish. 


Hold  your  head  erect,  but  not 

Haughtily,  to  all  men  ; 
When  your  fair  fame  they  would  blot, 

Never  answer  small  men. 
When  they  spring  with  hissing  harm, 

Madder  still  and  madder, 
Shake  them  gently  from  your  arm, 

As  Paul  let  drop  the  adder. 


Storms  will  have  their  gusty  way, 
Fools  will  have  their  ranting ; 

But  sense  outrides  the  roughest  day, 
And  sees  the  end  of  canting. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE.  239 

'Wrap  your  mantle  round  your  breast, 
And  when  the  storm  is  loudest, 

Lightly  fling  your  brightest  jest 
And  let  your  gait  be  proudest. 


Wouldst  thou  Truth's  fair  semblance  see, 

All  viewless  to  the  rabble, 
Keep  thy  soul  unbribed  and  free 

From  Whig  and  Tory  squabble  ; 
From  fretful  faction's  hoarse  debate, 

From  foiled  ambition's  canker, 
From  seas  of  never-ending  prate, 

And  floods  of  sacred  rancour. 


Let  your  eye  range  freely  round 
To  spell  the  scroll  of  Nature  ; 

But  ever  with  an  awe  profound 
Revere  the  great  Creator. 


240  THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE, 

Let  no  phrase  thy  wit  delude, 

Let  no  dogma  fetter  ; ' 
But  though  to  know  all  things  is  good. 

To  love  all  things  is  better. 


Wear  your  heart  not  on  your  sleeve ; 

But  on  just  occasion 
Let  men  know  what  you  believe 

With  breezy  ventilation  ; 
Prove  the  good,  and  make  them  thine, 

With  warm  embrace  and  ample ; 
But  never  cast  your  pearls  to  swine, 

Who  turn  and  rend  and  trample. 


Make  a  penny  when  you  can, 

'Tis  useful  as  a  tool  is, 
But  who  says,  Money  makes  the  man, 

A  meagre -witted  fool  is. 


THE  WISDOM  OF  I.IhK.  241 

Rich  is  he  whose  genial  breast, 

With  liberal  salutation, 
Hath  welcomed  all  that's  bright  and  best 

Throughout  the  wide  creation. 


When  you  've  got  a  willing  steed, 

Use  it  meek  and  mildly  : 
Soon  the  best  will  slack  his  speed 

If  you  spur  him  wildly. 
Race  not  with  a  ramping  might, 

Like  puffy  Boreas  blowing  ; 
But  like  the  glorious  lord  of  light, 

Be  gentle  in  thy  going. 


Now  my  Muse  must  clip  her  wing — 
Rhyme  's  a  fluent  preacher  ; 

But  how  to  do  the  proper  thing 
Life 's  the  only  teacher. 
Q 


242  THE  WISDOM  OF  LIFE. 

Only  he  may  know  who  tries  ; 

And  if  you  now  determine 
So  to  do  as  I  advise, 

Vou'ii  never  rue  tne  sermon. 


A  BOOK  WORTH  READING. 

BLACKIE'S 
FOUR  PHASES  OF  MORALS 

SOCRATES,   ARISTOTLE,    CHRISTIANITY,    AND 
UTILITARIANISM. 

BY 

JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE,  F.  R.  S.  E. 

PROFESSOR    OF   GREEK    IN    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    EDINBURGH. 

One  volume,  \2mo,  $1.50. 


Selecting  Socrates,  Aristotle,  Christianity,  and  Utilitarianism  as  the 
four  great  types,  Prof.  Blackie  shows  how  the  theories  of  the  ancient  schools 
intersect  the  activities  of  every-day  life,  and  where  they  fall  short  of  meeting 
the  demands  and  necessities  of  trie  human  soul.  The  volume  is  remarkably- 
clear  and  incisive  in  style,  and  vigorous  and  stimulating  in  thought. 


CRITICAL    NOTICES. 

From  the  Boston  Daily  A  dvertiser. 

The  Professor  succeeds  in  bringing  out  with  great  perspicacity  the  salient 
and  distinguishing  features  of  the  four  most  remarkable  phases  or  schools  of 
moral  science  which  have  had  and  still  have  influence  in  determining  the 
speculative  opinions  and  practical  conduct  of  the  present  civilized  peoples- 
The  style  of  these  lectures  is  for  the  most  part  plain  and  always  directed  to 
the  thought 

From  the  Boston  Watchman  and  Reflector. 

We  regard  this  book  of  Prof.  Blackie's  as  containing  by  far  the  ablost  vin-« 
dication  of  the  divinity  of  Christianity  which  the  year  has  produced.  In  the 
wide  sweep  of  its  thought  it  takes  in  all  those  principles  which  underlie  the 
various  forms  not  only  of  ancient  error  but  of  modern  unbelief.  The  spirit 
of  finest  scholarship,  of  broadest  charity,  and  of  a  reverent  faith,  pervades 
the  entire  book. 

From  the  New  York  Christian  A  dvocate. 

The  author  is  eminently  orthodox,  both  philosophically  and  theologically. 
.  .  .  .  It  is  a  thoughtful  work,  and  must  prove  highly  suggestive  of  thought 
to  all  who  may  read  it  appreciatively. 

From  the  New  York  Examiner  and  Chronicle. 
••le  is  very  readable,  often  beautiful,  — at  once  adorning  and  illus- 
trating his  themes  by  varied  allusions  to  the  best  ancient  and  modern  lit- 
erature. 

From  t/te  New  York  Evangelist. 
The  volume  shows  a  large  acquaintance  with  the  subject, and  is  uniformly 
clear  and  often  eloquent. 

Sent  f>ost-paid  upon  receipt  0/ price  by 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG,  &   CO. 

G54  Broadway,  New  York 


A  Vade  Mecum  for  Young  Men  and  Students. 
ON  SELF-CULTURE; 

INTELLECTUAL,    PHYSICAL,    AND    MORAL. 
By  JOHN  STUART  BLACKIE, 

PROFESSOR  OF  GREEK  IN  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  EDINBURGH,  AND  AUTHOR   OF 
"  FOUR  PHASES  OF  MORALS,"  ETC. 

One  volume,   i6mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 


CRITICAL   NOTICES. 

From  the  New  York  Evening  Post. 

We  cannot  here  particularize  Professor  Blackie's  precepts.  Everywhere 
he  teaches  the  desirableness  of  healthful  action,  of  a  buoyant  outlooking 
energy.     He  is  always  fresh,  never  flippant,  never  dull.     There  is  not  a 

page  which  would  not   repay  quotation The   reader  himself 

must  go  to  this  little  volume.  It  is  full  of  excellent  sense  and  fine  sugges- 
tion. The  style  is  forcible,  simple,  and  elegant;  tbe  thought  clear  and 
scholarly ;  of  the  high  moral  quality  of  the  book  we  have  said  enough. 

From  the  Boston  Transcript. 
Prof.  Blackie's  little  book  is  so  full  of  strong  Scotch  common-sense  and 
of  judicious  counsel  in  regard  to  the  aims,  studies,  and  habits  of  young 
men,  that  it  ought  to  find  its  way  to  the  library,  and  to  the  head  and  heart 
of  every  young  man  —  and  young  woman  too  —  in  all  English-speaking 
countries. 

From  the  Congregatioualist. 
To  speak  moderately,  Self-Culture  is  positively  admirable. 

Fro7n  the  New  York  World. 
As  ?.  whole,  the  book  is  a  plain  and  forcible  statement  of  rather  obvious 
truths,  and  it  will  doubtless  prove  of  more  practical  service  than  the  reader 
who  does  not  himself  stand  in  need  of  its  aid  will  be  at  first  sight  disposed 
to  think. 

From  the  Churchman. 
The  volume  is  one  which  every  young  man  ought  to  read.     It  sets  forth 
in  a  way  which  no  recent  writer  has  equalled,  the  relations  between  intel- 
lectual, physical,  and  moral  culture,  and  will  truly  serve  as  a  most  valuable 
vade  mecum. 

From  the  Watchman  and  Reflector. 
This  last  volume  from  Prof.  Blackie's  pen,  bears  the  marks  of  the  same 
fertile  thought,  finished  scholarship,  large,  earnest  spirit,  and  strong,  vigor- 
ous literary  style.     The  book  was  written  especially  for  young  men,  and 
every  line  is  like  a  bugle  call  to  all  that  is  truly  manly  in  the  young  nature. 

From  the  Christian  Intelligencer. 

Full  of  sensible  counsel  and  wise  suggestions  for  young  men,  especially 
those  preparing  for  or  entering  upon'  literary  or  professional  pursuits,  on 
the  subjects  of  the  culture  of  the  intellect,  physical  culture,  and  moral  cul- 
ture. The  wisdom  of  Prof.  Blackie's  counsels  consists  in  their  common 
sense  and  practicalness,  and  also  in  their  condensed  brevity. 

Will  be  sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  tJte  price  by  the  publishers , 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG,  &  CO., 

743  &  745  Broadway,  New  York. 


